Take the Money: Romantic Suspense in Costa Rica

by Lucia Sinn

  He gave her a long curious look. “You here on vacation?”

  “Sort of.” Julie looked over her shoulder, hoping the Indianapolis couple wasn’t close by. “This was just a spur-of-the-moment idea. How about you?”

  “Me? I’m staying at the Cariari. It has a great golf course. My name’s Bud Jimenez, by the way.”

  “Hmm, I don’t play golf.”

  “Even so, it’s a safe place to stay; you might want to try it. Lots of Americans, so you’d feel at home.” He looked out at the mob of Costa Rican men pressing their palms against the dirty smudged windows. Their dissonant voices rose and fell as they pushed each other aside in a frantic attempt to entice customers into their waiting vehicles.

  Bud continued: “My hotel has sent a van; I see the driver waiting out there. You’re welcome to come if you’d like, it’s free for hotel guests.”

  “But I don’t have a reservation.” Julie knew she should return the introduction, but she hadn’t decided whether she was going to use her real name.

  Bud waved his hand in the air. “No matter. It’s never full during the week.”

  Julie felt herself attracted to his suggestion. She was comfortable around this stranger for reasons she couldn’t quite identify.

  A tall man wearing a sombrero stepped forward out of the line and clapped his hand on Bud’s shoulder. “You’re the guy they stopped the plane for last night, right?”

  Bud looked embarrassed. “Yeah, it was a mix-up, I was making a late connection.”

  The cowboy leaned forward, a spray of whiskey breath coming from his flushed face. “You must be some important dude!” he bellowed. “I ain’t never had no one turn a plane around for me.” The nearby passengers stared while Bud’s cheeks turned pink.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience,” Bud said, and turned his back.

  But the man wasn’t giving up. “See here,” he shouted, pointing a finger toward Bud. “This is some Very Important Person.” Some of the airport officials and baggage men were staring with disgust at such boorish behavior and Julie, too, turned away. She’d seen it before in other foreign countries, but it always embarrassed her when her countrymen showed their asses. Yet what the drunk said had her worried. Was she wrong to trust Bud? Why had they stopped the plane for him?

  “About the Cariari,” she said. “Is it expensive?”

  “Not too bad,” Bud said in a neutral tone.

  Julie hesitated. It would probably be rude to ask what he was paying and he didn’t seem inclined to share. But one thing she knew, there was plenty in her bag to cover even the glitziest place.

  The trip through customs entailed nothing but a quick glance from a friendly inspector and a stamp on the passport. The local officials weren’t about to upset free-spending tourists with unwelcome scrutiny. Bud showed her the way through the crowd toward a tall kid who looked like an American basketball player in his Nike shirt, khakis, and tennis shoes. His black hair was trimmed short and neat, and he had a smooth clear complexion that suggested a healthy diet that included plenty of tropical fruits and vegetables. He stood next to a large van trimmed in turquoise letters bearing the name of a tour company.

  “Good evening Mr. Jimenez,” he said, in perfect English. “Did you have a good flight?”

  “No flight is ever good David, but we’re here, and I’ve brought you an extra passenger.” Bud motioned toward Julie with an expansive wave of his left hand. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

  “Sure, hop in.” David smiled and extended a long arm in a welcoming gesture. During the trip he stood in the aisle of the bus and pointed out all the new American hotels along the narrow streets of the city. Within fifteen minutes they were into residential areas where cement block homes in pastel colors sat on tiny lots and every window was barred. David began touting various day trips, distributing colorful brochures describing volcanoes, beaches, rain forests, and butterfly farms.

  Julie was glad his spiel made ordinary conversation impossible, because the tourists from Indy sat behind her. Apparently, the Cariari was part of their tour package. She turned away before they could ask any more questions, and leaned forward to rest her head on the seat in front of her.“Something wrong?” David’s hand was on her shoulder. “Miss?”

  “No, it’s just that my ears are ringing.”

  “It’ll clear up,” David said. “Happens to a lot of passengers. Such a steep descent coming into the mountains.” He held out a stick of chewing gum. “Here, this will help.”

  His cheerful manner made her relax. He seemed so familiar. “How long did you live in the US?” she asked as they pulled into the hotel driveway and prepared to step off the bus.

  His face broke into a delighted grin at her misjudgment. “Never been out of Costa Rica, haven’t even been on an airplane. But I want to go to California, it’s my dream.”

  “Well, you certainly won’t have any trouble with the language,” Julie said, fishing in her pocket for a tip. God, what if she gave him a hundred-dollar bill? Then she remembered the change from her ticket, loose in the pocket of her jacket. She scooped up a wad of bills and thrust them into the large warm palm of the hand he’d offered to help her disembark. The Indiana couple gave her a sharp look, then reluctantly handed him a dollar. She supposed they were upset that she’d shamed them into giving him any tip at all. Happily, they lost interest in her as they hurried toward the desk to inquire about their room.

  Julie stopped and took in her surroundings as the sweet scent of mahogany rushed to greet her. A highly polished gold and onyx marble floor set off burnished wood paneling and overhead beams. In the center of the lobby was a round glass table, with an opulent centerpiece of scarlet flowers that trembled beneath an oscillating ceiling fan. All of the outside doors were open, and a tropical breeze flowed through. The doormen—at once exotic and romantic with their Latin good looks enhanced by crisp white shirts and tight-fitting black pants—were elaborate in their courtesy and efforts to please. This was definitely going to be expensive. Best she take a few moments to inspect her cache of bills before checking in.

  The Ladies Room was down a hall lined with small shops displaying gold jewelry and designer clothes. Near the end of the hall she came to a darkened room, saw the glitter of slot machines, heard the click-click of a roulette wheel, and went past large tables where sweating men and women pored over playing cards and colored plastic chips. The casino was going strong, and no one was looking her way.

  Julie decided it might be a good chance to get rid of some hundred-dollar bills and exchange some dollars for Costa Rican currency without attracting much attention. From the looks of the high rollers in the casino, no one would bat an eye if she bought a stack of chips. Sure enough, the haughty young cashier with blood red lipstick and breasts bulging out of her white satin shirt was accommodating and blessedly uninterested in her.

  “How many, please?” she asked, looking over Julie’s shoulder at the action taking place at the blackjack table. Julie decided to play the tourist role and speak English.

  “Thirty in quarters, twenty in chips.” She shoved a few bills across the counter, hoping she wouldn’t get change in American dollars since she hadn’t requested it. Sure enough, back came stacks of chips, piles of strange looking coins, and an assortment of colorful colones.

  A cluster of Asian men stood transfixed at roulette as the wheel turned and their chips disappeared. Julie worked her way between them and threw a bunch of chips on numbers two and four. These had to be unlucky, because she was born February fourth, and if ever there was a screw-up, it had to be her. A voluptuous woman with lustrous black hair and sullen dark eyes spun the wheel.

  “Four,” came the final call. Julie stared at the white numbers on green felt and realized she had won.

  “You lucky lady.” a small man with rimless glasses whispered in her ear.

  “Just a fluke,” Julie said, dismayed now to be the center of attention.

  “What number you playing next?�
� he persisted.

  “I don’t know, the same number.” The gambler threw a stack of chips on the number along with hers, and she was relieved when the wheel stopped on number eight.

  “Shit!” he said.

  “Sorry, I told you, it was beginner’s luck.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, pick another number.” His companion smiled encouragement. “Buy you a drink?”

  “No, I’m taking a break.” Julie backed away. For someone trying to keep a low profile, she wasn’t doing well. She’d have to dump the rest of the chips later. Right now she wanted a room with a hot shower and a soft bed. She turned and walked back up the hall to the registration desk, relieved to see that her fellow travelers were out of sight.

  The desk clerk wore a long-sleeved white shirt and yellow silk tie. Were there any Costa Rican men who weren’t heartbreak handsome? With their dark thick hair, deeply tanned skin, finely sculpted features, and mobile lips, they oozed sensuality.

  “May I help you?” His English was elaborately precise.

  “I need a room for the evening.”

  “A single room?” His eyes dropped to her breasts, and Julie shifted uncomfortably.

  “Yes, it’s just for me.”

  He looked down at his computer. “I’ll need some information. Your name?”

  Julie hesitated. She needed a new name, quick. “Stephanie Talbot,” she heard herself say. Why was the name of that snip from Lewiston the only one that came to mind? She’d have to come up with something better than that.

  “King sized bed?” The question was discreet, softly spoken, and he averted his eyes.

  Julie raised her voice an octave. Sure. Fine. By the way, what is the rate?”

  “That will be $247, Senorita. How will you be paying?”

  “Cash, in advance. Is that agreeable?”

  Slowly, the black eyelashes turned up, and he regarded Julie with a small smile. “Certainly.” a subtle fragrance drifted across the desk: exotic, spicy. Ordinarily, Julie disliked men who wore cologne or shaving lotion, but this scent was faintly arousing. He looked directly into her eyes. “Your baggage?”

  Julie felt momentarily flustered. “I only have my backpack, I won’t need help.”

  He was suddenly all business, producing a large gold key. “Your room is down the hall, to the right, and halfway down the corridor to 1016.”

  Relief swept through Julie’s body. She had a comfortable place to sleep, and Bud had been right, this looked like a safe spot. Nevertheless, it was too pricy, even with all the cash in her bag. How long would it have to last? The possibility of a job didn’t seem too likely, and from a magazine on the plane she’d learned that the average wage was around $400 a month, which meant that her room tonight represented over half a month’s salary to this man. His suave manner betrayed no resentment.

  The corridor leading to her room was open-aired, filled with glossy plants, trees, and small spotlights strategically placed among the foliage. Julie was looking forward to a gentle tropical breeze to lull her to sleep. But a blast of air-conditioned air hit her face when she opened the door.

  She tried to open the window but it was sealed shut, covered with iron bars. Defense against theft appeared to be a serious concern in this country. How safe was her bag of cash? First thing tomorrow, she’d need to find a bank.

  The smell of her grime was getting to her, and she longed for a shower. But first she wanted to re-evaluate her resources. She emptied her shoes and pockets, then dumped the contents of the backpack on her bed. Carefully she smoothed and stacked the bills and began to count. Just slightly less than $59,000 lay against the flowered cotton bedspread, mixed in with her dingy underwear and Tshirts. She stared at it for several minutes, thoughts whirling through her head. Who did this money really belong to? Kevin had given it to her. But was it his to give?

  She was beginning to feel like a bag lady. She’d tried to sponge away the dirt on her face and arms in various restrooms, but she knew her skin had to be coated with layers of unfriendly bacteria. Right now she was craving soap and water more than anything.

  The white-tiled bathroom was piled with fluffy towels, and a gold-nozzle shower looked promising, but based on Julie’s experience in other foreign countries, she wasn’t expecting much more than a tepid trickle. To her delight, a spray of steaming water splashed across her chest, and she lathered herself with the hotel’s perfumed soap and shampoo from Paris. She had never traveled first class before, but she had to admit, she could get used to this. It was a good fifteen minutes before she stepped out, toweled off, and pulled a clean T-shirt over her head. She pushed aside most of the downy pillows, climbed between yellow satiny sheets, and sank into bed.

  The telephone rang. Julie came out of her dreamy lassitude and went into the alarm mode that had become so familiar during the past several hours. Who could it be? The desk, perhaps, asking if she was satisfied with her accommodations? Her pals at the casino? For a generous tip, the registration clerk might have gladly provided her room number to anyone. Reluctantly, she picked it up and answered in a low voice.

  “Yes?”

  “Senorita Talbot?”

  “Si.”

  There was a pause. “Buenos Noches.”

  Julie said, “Gracias.”

  No response. After a few seconds she heard a gentle click and the phone went dead. She sat for a moment, listening to the throbbing of her own heartbeat against the receiver.

  Nerve endings taut, Julie threw down the phone, ran to the window and yanked open the heavy draperies. The pale golden glow of torch lights beamed out across the meticulously maintained lawn where an armed security guard sauntered back and forth in front of the complex. Why should she be frightened? Probably just the desk clerk had called. She pulled the draperies shut and went back to bed.

  When she awakened, the room was so dark she couldn’t see her own outstretched hands. If there had been more phone calls, she hadn’t heard them. Her neck was stiff and she felt like she’d spent the night under a steam roller. With aching legs she inched her way toward the sliver of light to the right of her bed. Shafts of bright sunshine sent a stab of pain through her head as she looked out the window.

  Cars and taxicabs moved along the circular driveway while busloads of tourists swarmed in and out of bright vans near the hotel entrance. Was it morning or afternoon? The room had no clock, but she found her wristwatch and was startled to see that it was eleven a.m. She had to get going. Checkout was noon, and even though she could easily afford another night, it didn’t seem right to blow Kevin’s blood money this way.

  Packing took only minutes and Julie was out of there. The breezeway leading to the lobby was filled with the smell of coffee, sausages and fruit. She was hungry. Dare she risk going into the dining room, possibly running into Bud, the elder Americans, or the high rollers at the roulette table? And who had called her room last night? She hesitated, nervously cracking her knuckles as she scanned the tables.

  “Alone?” the maitre d’ stood at the entryway, holding a menu.

  “Yes.” Julie followed him to a small table near the swimming pool. She thought about ordering a bagel, but the breakfast buffet—with baskets of fresh tropical fruits, sweet rolls, breads, and gleaming chafers filled with tamales, black beans, eggs, sausage, bacon, and rice—was too tempting to resist.

  When she’d finished and the waiter came with a carafe, she asked in Spanish if there was a bus into San Jose.

  “Just a city bus,” he apologized. “Most of our guests take a taxi into town. The attendants at the front door can get you one.”

  “But where do you catch the bus?” she persisted.

  “A look of alarm flashed across his face. “You wouldn’t want the bus, it’s crowded and dirty. Very hot, no air conditioning.”

  “But supposing I do take it. Where do I go?”

  “Across the road, out in front. You’ll see people waiting.”

  “Thanks.” Julie held out her cup. “I’ll have a bi
t more coffee, please. It’s delicious.”

  “No better coffee than here in Costa Rica,” he agreed. “And where are you from?”

  “United States. Couldn’t you tell?”

  He narrowed his dark eyes and stroked his mustache, studying her intently. “Usually I can. But you could be from just about anywhere, I guess. Will you be staying long in our country?”

  Julie thought a moment, not sure of what she could say without arousing curiosity. “Just a week or so,” she said

  “Well, then. Enjoy your stay.” He gave her an innocent smile, but she worried he was suspicious, as though the money in her backpack was sending out electronic signals. She tried to calm herself, savoring the rich, dark coffee she hadn’t enjoyed since Europe. Hoosiers liked their coffee at half strength, her stepfather included. And of course, Mom had to cater to Jed, didn’t she? Although why, Julie couldn’t imagine, unless it had to do with their love life.

  Ceiling fans twirled lazily overhead, and a breeze blew in from the patio where sun worshipers lay sprawled on cushioned lounges. There was something repellent about the spoiled-looking women with their bleached hair, lizard-brown skin, brightly painted toenails, and diamonds flashing in the sunlight. Julie felt a sudden urge to flee.

  She waited fifteen minutes before realizing it was necessary to ask for a bill. Apparently one could spend the entire day sitting and sipping coffee. The sumptuous breakfast was only about seven dollars; she paid the cashier and threw a five-dollar bill on the table. Not smart if she wanted to avoid attention, but she knew how good it felt to receive a generous tip.

  She slung her bag across her back and hurried down the hall, past the lobby with its flank of doormen, across the plush green lawn, and out into the real world of Costa Rica.

  *

  Several people on the hotel service staff waited for the bus, still in their fancy gold-trimmed uniforms. As Julie joined them she saw the gangly form of last night’s van driver sprinting across the road. David’s knobby knees stuck out from under his short pants as though his legs had grown too fast for his muscles to catch up. He stopped in front of her, taking long nervous drags on his cigarette while his bony elbows flapped in the air.