Esteban and Raphael understood how she felt. They had discussed the matter before. She had not left the NSA because of injury. She had burned out, so tired of sorting out usable material from informants with agendas who brought fragments of truths and outright lies that had to be investigated, however improbable or repugnant the information. And after a friend had died because she had not been able to find the truth fast enough, she had been unable to go on.
Her life now was much simpler with everyone’s motivations understood. And if the price of that freedom was sometimes doing favors for her old employer?
Juliet’s fierce, visceral rejection of any professional ties with her old employer was tempered by realism. She would sometimes be forced to sup with this devil who had legal claim on her body if not her soul. When that happened she would make sure that she used a really long spoon.
Esteban did not look convinced by her arguments, but he bent down to pick up Marley when the curious cat came over to investigate their dinner. After stroking the cat once from fore to aft in their familiar greeting, Esteban presented Marley one of the shrimp plucked from the fried rice with his chopsticks.
Marley considered the offering carefully and then decided that perhaps, just that once, he would be willing to try a bit of seafood. Seeing him munch so delicately, one would never suspect that he could attack his tuna like a starving wolverine.
“Have you explained to Marley that he will be bunking with me while you are away?” Esteban asked, changing the subject.
“Yes, and he says that room and board is a nice offer as long as I leave you with his favorite tuna. I have his supplies laid out on the counter already.”
They finished their dinner, and by then it was late enough to interrupt Raphael and begin the process of crating the paintings he was taking with him.
“Bella, I am thinking that this might be an excellent time for me to visit my cousin, Raoul. He lives in Coahuila. Your beast would be fine staying with Rose or Sheriff Garret instead.”
This idea, and variations of it, had crossed her mind already.
“You don’t have to do this,” Juliet said, touched by the offer she had suspected he would make. “But if you wanted to…. Not that there will be anything you can do if we get in trouble. The place is quite literally a fortress. And I don’t plan on doing anything that will get either Raphael or me in discord with the owner. My job is to look, nothing more.”
“Let’s see how Raphael feels about this,” Esteban suggested diplomatically.
Juliet snorted.
“Raphael will feel fine about this and you know it. Neither of you has much faith in me.”
“No, Bella, it is not that. I have complete faith that you will find your roundel wherever it is hidden. The trouble is that I am not sure that you will be content to leave it there.”
“I would never steal the roundel,” Juliet said firmly and was fairly sure that she meant it.
“But it wouldn’t be stealing, would it?” he asked. “Not if it is in the hands of a thief and you were returning it to its owner.”
Juliet didn’t answer.
Chapter 3
Juliet had just a touch of that irrational and visceral terror that unimaginative non-sufferers dismissed so contemptuously as “fear of flying.” But that was a silly definition of her problem. She didn’t fear flying at all. She feared crashing. In small airports. On badly maintained planes.
She did her best to keep these doubts about their safety hidden. Not from Raphael. There was no point in trying to hide anything from him. But she didn’t feel the need to burden her fellow travelers with her nerves or force Raphael to comfort her when he was clearly tired. He had been up the better part of the night making sure that his paintings were properly crated. Though Esteban and Juliet had been there to help, he had insisted on doing much of the work himself. He was taking three canvases. One of them he had painted using Juliet as his model. As always, he had succeeded in making her look more radiant and beautiful than she actually was.
“I googled von Hayek last night. There isn’t anything about him beyond the so-called bio put out by the Quatros Cienegas Sanctuary webpage.” Juliet folder her hands and resisted the urge to check her seatbelt again. It really wouldn’t help if they plummeted toward earth at one hundred twenty-eight miles per hour, or whatever the terminal velocity of a packed airplane might be.
“I am not surprised. He is very jealous of his privacy.” He spoke as quietly as she had.
“Those war criminals so often are. There were some interesting pictures of the reserve. The springs have some rather gorgeous water lilies and are as clear as glass. They also have some fish and turtles that live nowhere else on earth, so the whole shutting them off from the public and their beer cans and suntan oil makes sense.” She lowered her voice further since the woman across from her was carrying a rosary and had looked at her with alarm when she mentioned war criminals. “I found another site that gave a legend about the lilies. Supposedly the lakes are the home of one of the Aztecan gods called Smoking Mirror. He has a bunch of handmaidens that are … I guess vampires is the best word for them, though they don’t suck blood.”
“If not blood then what? Energy? Souls?” Raphael asked curiously.
“Brains,” Juliet said and then shuddered. “With a long stinger thing that goes in through the ear.”
“How utterly beastly.”
“Yeah, it causes a kind of brain fever in the victim—usually the deceased’s nearest and dearest. Turning into these brain-suckers is what happens if a woman dies in childbirth when she is near water inhabited by the god, or if it is raining and the god can get to her.”
“It is a creative way to explain a deadly pathogen, I suppose.”
“Anyhow, sometimes when gold was running short, or the god seemed displeased with the regular statues and such, they would stop feeding him gold offerings and chuck a pregnant woman in the pond instead. The lilies are supposed to grow out of their bodies.”
“Charming.”
“Yeah, I bet you feel a new painting coming on already.”
“Not exactly. But I do feel that a glass of wine might be in order.” Raphael turned and looked for the flight attendant. He didn’t have to look far since they were in first class.
Chapter 4
Flying first class was nice, and necessary for Raphael. But as the planes got progressively smaller, the distinctions in allotted space and seating got smaller right along with the airliners until, seven hours later, it disappeared completely. Juliet felt like stacked Tupperware.
From Mexico City they boarded a small jet and flew to Francisco Sarabia International Airport somewhere in or around Coahuila. There they caught an even smaller private jet belonging to von Hayek. This took them to a very private, in fact hardly visible, airstrip near the never-open-to-the-public sanctuary set up by the von Hayek Foundation.
At no point did Juliet feel entirely confident that they would live to reach their destination. In fact, her faith eroded every time they had to climb onto a new and smaller plane. Arrangements had been made for Raphael and his wheelchair, but being carried up and down stairs and passing through security multiple times was hardly ideal, and Juliet treated herself to two Motrin with a ginger ale chaser.
Juliet also met, but didn’t particularly like, some of her fellow artists that shared their flying deathtrap to Quatros Cienegas. Bertram Fröndenberger was the least objectionable of them, being old and rather vague, perhaps because of his macular degeneration which would eventually end his career. She hoped that there would be someone at the castle to look after the beige and rather irritable painter and steer him away from steep stairs and suits of armor that castles seemed to always have lying around. If not, she feared she might end up being his minder. Juliet could forgive his being rather offhand with her when they were introduced, because he created exquisite altarpieces in the form of the traditional fourteenth-century triptychs. Allowances had to be made for genius. Besides, he seeme
d to be genuinely glad to see—at least to squint at—Raphael.
The others? Well, Juliet allowed them to be very popular, but their art was a long way from what she considered genius, and whatever else they were, it was not touched by the hand of Divinity, unless you counted Bacchus. That did not mean that she was surrounded by fragile egos. Far from it. There was in fact very little room for her on the plane, what with their narcissism taking up every available inch of space.
Juliet resisted putting fingers in her ears to block them out but it was a struggle. Matthais San Marco, of the narrow black mustache that belonged on a silent movie villain, did giant, blotchy canvases in angry colors that reminded Juliet of nothing much except maybe an elephant’s bottom, assuming they came in shades of violet and lime green. On the upside, his paintings made her see the relative merit in the work of her neighbor, Asher Temple, who was at least soft-spoken. She would have to tell Asher that when she got back home, though in a more tactful way.
Beside him was a creature which everyone claimed was female. Guda Stoss had elbowed her way into the mostly male, rough and tumble world of metal sculpture, an accomplishment which Juliet would admire unstintingly if she had not also taken on all the worst male characteristics Juliet could imagine, including but not limited to spitting, scratching below the waist, and using foul language. She also smelled like an ashtray in a gentlemen’s club because she carried and smoked cigars. Juliet was not a woman who clung to the trappings of youth and femininity with morbid hysteria, but she at least made an effort to comb her hair and slap on a little lipstick before going out in public. Guda had rejected all that. She was deliberately ugly in form and in manner. Even her hands were unattractive, which was not always the case with sculptures. Their hands might be strong and calloused, but not unkempt.
Raphael was unfailingly polite when she addressed him, pretending not to notice her avid eyes. He was polite to everyone when in work mode, but Juliet could tell by his pinched face that he was repelled by Guda. That hopefully meant that Juliet would not be forced into spending a great deal of time with her.
In an effort to distract herself from her growing hostility toward her fellow travelers, Juliet gazed out the small window, hoping to see something of interest. By the light of the setting sun, the land was a dusty gold with occasional intrusions of what looked like obsidian blades. As the plane banked and began to descend, she saw four emerald patches that she assumed were the famous protected lakes of Quatros Cienegas.
Then she saw the airstrip, which seemed impossibly short, and a limousine that was impossibly long. There was also another vehicle which looked a great deal like an armored car. And there were armed guards—just to add tone to the event. Other than that, there were no signs of life or movement in the light of the dying sun. It seemed to be a dead land, but at least it was land, so Juliet welcomed it.
Juliet was so relieved to be getting off the airplane and away from the reek of Guda Stoss that she forgot to think about the possibilities of crashing more than seven or eight times as they bumped along the unpaved airstrip in the backend of nowhere.
Chapter 5
Though there were people to meet them, their landing was not the usual happy airport reunion scene. In fact there were no happy faces in the crowd. No one in the landing crew looked happy either, and it momentarily subdued the bickering chatter of the artists.
Juliet was the first person out of the plane. She did it graciously, but the need to escape the smell of the Stoss woman had become critical. Her headache was worse and she felt on the verge of nausea.
The second vehicle was an armored car, and two equally armored guards climbed out and began stowing the carefully crated art as quickly as it came off the plane. Such caution seemed unnecessary, though she supposed the dollar value of the art in the hold was actually very high. Still, who was around to steal it? The only living things were the buzzards circling in the bare sky.
Equal swiftness was used to tuck the passengers into the limousine, though Juliet could see no need for hurry unless it was to ply everyone with champagne and air conditioning. There was even a ramp for Raphael’s chair, which made boarding easy. On the surface it was all very thoughtful. Underneath, she sensed a compulsion for control that bordered on bullying.
One of the guards overseeing the loading of the artwork was an early example of Homo erectus. Juliet knew it was not always accurate to judge a book by its cover, or the state of a person’s mind or soul by their fleshly exterior, but she found the man to be repellant. His right hand was severely scarred and looked like a topographical map. She had seen burns like that before. They were chemical. He seethed with suppressed anger and she was only too glad to avoid him and the oversized pistol in his shoulder holster.
Juliet reminded herself that millionaires—billionaires—were more than people who had a lot of money. They had power and influence and private armies, and they thought nothing of ordering the world to suit their whims and comforts. That was lovely when it was being used for your benefit.
But experience had taught her the capacity for ruthlessness was always there under the surface thoughtfulness. Somewhere near puberty it began to rise up, creating the next generation of tyrants. That these instincts were sometimes glossed over with education and good manners and excellent taste did not mean that the ruthlessness was not there and fully functional. And the wealthy could be very dangerous, because they had little experience at being thwarted and tended to over react in swift and decisive ways when angered. Then there was the matter of greed. Unchecked, it started making decisions—usually bad ones.
Von Hayek’s army was dressed up as footmen and chauffeurs and probably gardeners and maids, at least when other people were around, but she was willing to bet that they didn’t spend a lot of time doing domestic tasks like the real servants.
Oh well, at least they were being chauffeured in style to their doom.
There was a road of sorts that led to the castle, a rutted track that had probably been in use during the days of Cortez. The limousine drove beside it, followed by the armored car. Eventually they began to climb as they mounted the spur of stone that had thrust up in the middle of the desert. Mountain tops were always popular locations for castles. They had good views and it made the edifices more impressive.
The castle was only reached by passing through a thick wall so tall that they could not see over it from the road. She caught only a glimpse of what she thought was a bird, but told herself she might well be mistaken because of the failing light. Still, a part of her was sure that she had seen a giant raven and the symbolism added to her unease. The choice to put up a wall around the castle might have been an aesthetic one, recalling the ancient days of battles and fortresses. Coupled with the armed guards, it might also suggest paranoia that such an attack could happen again.
The castle itself, when finally in view, was doing a good impression of being abandoned in the last century until the security lights popped on, flooding the earth and sky with light that could probably be seen from space. It also pointed out graphically what a strange building it was. The size was expected but not the unorthodoxy. It was startling enough to catch her off guard.
Juliet had been expecting something that felt like a theme park castle, a recreation that had the general outlines of something medieval but which would feel fake close up. But that was not the case. Von Hayek’s castle felt genuinely medieval—just not medieval Europe. Whether it had been built on the remains of an older temple that was already in situ, or if the builder had incorporated Aztec carvings brought in from somewhere else, it was an authentic creation, a hybrid of architecture that felt both real and monstrous, a testament to strength and not harmony. There were crenellations and towers but also a pyramid. The designer had to have been schizophrenic or else trying to please two masters.
There were carvings in the stone that had been fretted by the wind and sand and heartless time, but this particular figure had been deeply scrivened. The foundation
to the left of the massive doors was sporting a snake eating a skeleton. Or perhaps regurgitating it. Neither option was one Juliet wanted to see and she thought it rather lacked something as a welcome mat, which might have been intentional.
She glanced up at the gargoyles perched in their unneeded flying buttresses where they could leer down at the people below. They were not dragons or horned demons of Notre Dame but instead representations of the god Quetzalcoatl.
What she could see no sign of were the solar panels that her research assured her were used to power the castle. This idea had pleased her but perhaps it was misinformation. Certainly there had been no warning about the abortion of taste that was the castle itself.
The artists around her seemed to have been struck dumb, perhaps overwhelmed by the art from another era. Or perhaps they also sensed the building’s hostile nature. More likely they were trying hard to think up something admiring to say in case their opinions were asked. Juliet had already decided on “not my field” as her answer should anyone seek her opinion of the architecture.
If Juliet had ever been rapturous of castles, she had gotten over it after working in one where she found a body bricked up in the fireplace. All other considerations aside, they were uncomfortable and inconvenient for modern living. She appreciated the engineering in a clinical way since it could not have been easy to glue all those disparate styles together, but was not at all inclined to fantasize romantically about Rupert of Hentzau or the Count of Monte Cristo. Especially not there where Rupert and Montezuma would have been alike offended and bewildered by the structure.
Drowning Pool (Miss Henry Mysteries) Page 2