by Diana Orgain
“I got the message when Cheryl and I landed in Madrid.” Dad lowered his eyes. “I haven’t told anybody, not even Cheryl.”
“What? What is it?” I asked.
“You know, honey, it’s tough to meet somebody the way you two met . . . on a reality show—”
“Dad!” I shook his arm. “What did he say? Is he hurt? Tell me.”
Dad held my gaze. “He slipped away in the middle of the night, honey, because he didn’t want to do the show.”
The earth seemed to tilt a bit, like something was wrong with the gravitational pull. It took me a moment to realize that it was me who was off balance. I grabbed at the olive tree for support. “What?” I stuttered. “Why wouldn’t he tell me?”
“I don’t know.” Anger flashed through Dad’s eyes and I knew he had something else to tell me.
“Is there more, Dad?”
“He knew . . . it was complicated . . .”
“What else did he say, Dad? Why didn’t he tell me he was leaving the show . . . was he leaving me, too?”
Dad embraced me. “I’m so sorry, Peaches. I’m so sorry that he wasn’t man enough to tell you to your face.”
Humiliation charged my system and suddenly I was flush with resentment. “He broke up with me via an email to you?”
Dad tsked. “I know this is really tough.”
“Where’s the email? Did you print it out? Where is it?” I demanded.
“No, I didn’t print it out, honey. I told you I was in the airport.” He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out his cell phone.
“I’m so glad you finally upgraded phones!” I said.
Dad scrolled through the screen, searching for the email, and looked flummoxed. Up until recently Dad had carried a flip phone with no Internet access. He said Scott and I had finally convinced him to upgrade, but I knew Cheryl was probably more behind the new phone than either of us.
“Why didn’t you tell Cheryl about the email?” I asked. “Why the secrecy?”
“It’s not my business to tell it, is it?” he said.
He was trying to spare me some embarrassment.
Dad showed me the email, my eyes clouded over with tears as I read Scott’s brief note. Part of me was relieved; Scott was no longer a missing person.
The other part of me, though, felt empty; as if a piece of me was missing.
“We have to tell Sergio right away,” I said.
There was no reason for the police to be searching for him now . . . except, of course, there was the matter of the dead woman.
Seven
Disbelief and astonishment rolled through me, quickly followed by anger. I’d been worried sick about him, and he didn’t even have the decency to break up with me in person!
I walked away from my father, staggering as I moved, the emotion overwhelming me.
“You don’t have anything to prove, Georgia. It’s okay to fall apart in front of me, honey,” Dad said.
“I loved him, Dad.” The tears stuck in my throat and I buried my head in my hands. It suddenly made sense that Scott’s passport was missing. He’d taken it with him. Leaving me intentionally? I wept in my father’s arms.
“He’s lucky he’s not here,” Dad said through gritted teeth. “I’d kill him.”
• • •
Dad and I made our way back into the bar area of the B&B, only to find that the cast and crew had cleared out, leaving Cheryl and Becca alone to chat. Two chilled glasses of sangria sweated in front of them, the condensation dripping down the sides and saturating the tabletop.
By the way they grew quiet when we entered, I knew they were up to no good.
“I think we’ll need a pitcher of that,” I said, indicating the sangría.
Becca eagerly hailed down the senora who ran the bed-and-breakfast. “Uno más,” she said, pointing at me.
Dad cleared his throat. “¡Dos más!”
The senora gave me a sympathetic nod and got busy pouring our drinks.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“There are fiestas in town tonight,” Becca said. “Cheryl gave everyone a pass for the night.” She sipped her sangría. “Well, I mean, she gave most everyone a pass for the night. They’re upstairs getting ready.”
Cheryl stiffened and I knew that most everyone obviously didn’t include Becca. Becca looked away from us and pretended she didn’t care, but I knew she desperately needed a night off.
I patted Becca’s shoulder. “You should go to the fiestas, too. I’m sure Cheryl won’t mind,” I said pointedly.
Cheryl bristled, but Dad said, “Fiestas? What are they celebrating? A saint day or something?”
The senora leaned in. “The first Friday of the month.”
Dad chuckled. “The first Friday? Heck, we should all go to the fiestas!”
“I’m not going. I have work to do.” Cheryl narrowed her eyes at Dad. “You can go if you like.”
Dad waved a hand. “Oh, no. I’m jet-lagged. Why don’t we stay here on our own? Get comfortable. Let the others go out and enjoy themselves.”
Cheryl perked up at the idea. “Yes!” She turned to Becca. “You can have the night off. Go into town with Georgia—”
“No. I’m not in the mood for fiestas,” I said. “You may as well tell them, Dad.”
Dad shrugged, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. Instead, he pulled out his cell phone and slid it across the bar.
Becca shrieked when she saw the email and Cheryl gasped. “He doesn’t want to do the show? He’s under contract!”
Becca shook her head at Cheryl. “Don’t be so insensitive.”
“Insensitive?” Cheryl screeched. “The man has put us behind, costing us tens of thousands of dollars! Do you know what it cost to house the entire cast and crew here?”
At that, the senora behind the bar chuckled.
Dad put a hand on Cheryl’s lower back. “Darling—”
“I’m going to sue him, that’s what I’m going to do!” she howled.
I laughed bitterly. “He doesn’t have any money.”
Cheryl frowned at me. “Come on. He’s a big-time author!”
While it was true that Scott had authored quite a few hits, financially he’d been wiped out paying for his deceased wife’s medical treatments.
“It’s doesn’t mean that he has—”
Cheryl interrupted me. “I’m going to sue his New York Times–bestselling behind!” When Dad pulled his hand away from her, she continued, “Don’t get upset, Gordon. It’s nothing personal, just business.”
“It is personal!” Becca protested.
“It’s personal to Georgia!” my Dad said. “And to Becca and me, too.”
Cheryl’s eyes fluttered and her entire head began to tick nervously back and forth, as if she couldn’t understand ordinary people. She couldn’t get her mind around the fact that Becca and Dad had actually liked Scott and I had loved him.
“You all are being ridiculous!” she admonished. “The man walked off my set!” She poked Dad in the chest. “And he left your daughter in the lurch! She was worried sick about him. You were, too! We flew halfway across the world in order to straighten out this mess!”
The senora had been watching our drama unfold, and when we all quieted down, she gave a shake of her head and said, “Ai yai yai.”
Dad covered his face with his hands and repeated the expression.
Becca pushed her empty sangría glass toward the senora. “Uno más.”
I slumped into the bar stool next to Becca and pushed my empty glass next to hers. The senora refilled our glasses without a word. Then she disappeared into the kitchen, only to return with a tray of tapas: grilled mushroom in a wine and garlic sauce, white beans with sausage and ham, and calamari in an aioli sauce.
My mouth watered and
despite my severe angst about Scott, I dug into the food. We grew quiet as we savored our meals.
Dad dipped a piece of warm crusty bread into the garlic sauce. “Oh, my word. Is all the food in Spain this good?”
The senora smiled. “Sí.”
“Dinner last night was pretty amazing,” Becca said. She poked at me and said, “Right, G?”
I nodded, listless again.
She put her arm around me. “I’m so sorry, honey. Guys totally stink.”
I grumbled but didn’t answer.
“It’s not really like him, is it?” Becca persisted. “I can’t believe he’d break up with you via email.”
“I want to go home,” I whined.
“Home!” Cheryl squawked. “Not on your life!” She slammed a fist into the bar. “We have a show to film.”
Oh, great.
Dread filled my belly.
She was going to make me go through with the show.
“I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I don’t have a partner,” I stuttered.
I suddenly envisioned Cheryl partnering me with Kyle and a red itchy blotch appeared on my collarbone, as if the thought had given me hives. I glanced nervously at Becca for reassurance, but she feigned interest in the white bean tapas.
Cheryl whacked Dad in the back, causing him to choke on his piece of bread. “Whaddya mean? Gordon’s right here! We have the mother-son team. Why not a father-daughter team?”
Dad’s eyes grew wide in horror. “Oh, no! No, no, no, no.”
“Why not?” Cheryl insisted. “You need the money. You want to save your farm, right? You and Georgia can win this thing!”
“Uh . . .” Dad looked pained. “This is Expedition Improbable! You all have a bunch of torturous challenges planned. Like hiking and rafting, and God knows what!”
Cheryl batted her eyes at Dad, pouring on the sweetness. “Oh, Gordon—”
“No. I’m not going to do it. I’m old—”
“You’re not old, Gordon,” Cheryl said.
Dad patted his flat stomach. “I’m fat, there’s no way I’ll make it through those challenges.”
Becca snickered. “You’re not fat, you’re downright skinny!”
“I’m out of shape, then,” Dad whined.
“No you’re not, darling,” Cheryl wiggled her eyebrows in a suggestive fashion. I turned away, willing my mind to redact any unwanted images she’d just implanted with that stupid look of hers.
“I don’t like to get up early,” Dad said.
Becca laughed. “Gordon! You’re a farmer! You’ve been getting up early your whole life!”
“Georgia doesn’t want me as a partner!” Dad insisted. “She needs someone young, someone who can—”
“Dad!” I exclaimed, a little louder than I’d intended. I couldn’t risk Becca or Cheryl getting the bright idea of partnering me up with a flamboyant stylist. “You would make a good partner, I think.”
Dad pressed his lips together.
“At least we can trust him not to walk off the job,” Cheryl stated.
I smiled to myself. I knew the real reason Dad didn’t want to be on the show was that he didn’t want to look foolish on national television. And I couldn’t blame him. Looking like a fool was tough. I’d been humiliated in front of all our family and friends when I’d been left at the altar by my former fiancé, Paul. Worse, now I’d look like an even bigger idiot for choosing Scott over Paul on the last show.
But there was another reason not to pack up and go home.
Annalise Rodriguez.
Had Scott known her? Who was she to him? More important, why was his watch at the scene of the crime?
If I stayed in Spain, I might be able to get some answers; some closure.
I got up and walked over to Dad. “You know, I think the only way I can do the show is with you by my side, Daddy.”
Dad blinked up at me, a stoic expression on his handsome face.
He couldn’t say no to me. All my life, Dad had always, always stood proud in my corner. He was my hero.
He turned away from me, plucked a toothpick out of the small holder on the bar and speared a mushroom. He waved the mushroom at Cheryl. “I’ll do the show if meals are included.”
Eight
The narrow streets of Jaca were crowded and noisy. It seemed the entire town had come out to celebrate. There was a loud band on a makeshift stage that alternated playing Spanish folk songs and contemporary hits, but no matter what music they blared, the crowd joyously danced.
The cast and crew pressed up against me, almost in a protective manner. The heat of the day had passed, but the cement and the crowd still pulsed with fire and I felt nauseous. I regretted letting Becca talk me into the fiestas.
The crowd was dressed in the traditional white fiestas outfits with red sashes and bandanas, some wore red boinas, too. Kyle had pulled one of his magic tricks and had produced white outfits for the group. I’d refused to change into the transparent white dress he selected for me, so in essence he wasn’t speaking to me. He occupied himself with DeeCee and Daisy, showering them with attention like it was going out of style.
They were dressed in matching outfits; white short-shorts that left little to the imagination and halter tops so clingy and revealing that no one would forget their team name, Double D.
Victoria had attached herself to Cooper, who seemed happy to let her stick to him like a second skin. Her brother, Parker, chatted amicably with the mother-and-son team, Helen and Eric. While Todd seemed to sulk by himself.
Most of the cast was drunk on red wine and when the band played the chicken dance, they went wild, jostling up against me and driving me crazy. My nerves were so on edge that each time someone bumped into me, my skin crawled.
“How long are we going to be out here?” I asked Becca.
She pinched my cheek. “Cheer up, monkey. Aren’t you having a good time?”
“I have a headache. The music is too loud,” I said.
Daisy shook her behind in front of me and screamed. “Shake a tail feather, Georgia!”
I moved away from her, not able to get Annalise out of my mind. Juan Jose, one of our local crew members, was near me. I asked him, “Juan Jose. Did you know Annalise? The woman who was killed in the woods.”
He stiffened. “No. I did not know her. She was ETA, why would I know her? I hate ETA and their Molotov cocktails and their bombings and their killings!” His face grew red. “They are savages!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s only that—”
DeeCee grabbed Juan Jose’s arm. “I heard there’s going to be fireworks!”
Miguel, our other local crew member, pointed toward a grassy mound in the distance and suddenly the cast began to peel off in different directions.
Which was entirely fine with me.
Just as I was enjoying the breathing space, a raucous Spaniard danced right into me, spilling his wine on my shirt. He assailed me with a fast string of Spanish, which I assumed was an apology. I held up my arms and tried to wave him off, indicating I didn’t speak Spanish and I hadn’t been hurt when he boogied into me. He grabbed my wrist and spun me around, undeterred.
“¡Olé guapa!” he yelled.
The music kicked into another folk song and soon everyone was bouncing around in a dance I didn’t know.
The man was my age and had such a disarming smile that I felt guilty disentangling myself from him. I glanced over to grab Becca, only to realize she’d been swooped up by another overly eager gentleman.
Under different circumstances, I would have loved these fiestas; these beautiful friendly Spaniards in their bright white outfits, everyone offering each other a “hail fellow well met,” but as it was, the sadness that had rooted itself into my heart since Scott left now throbbed. I stepped away from the crowd and rounded
the corner, looking for a little quiet space to catch my breath.
On the first street, there was still a throng of people dancing and heading toward the music in the plaza.
I walked further down the narrow cobblestone path and noticed there were less people now. In a doorway, I spotted a couple locked in an embrace and then another couple passed me on their way toward the square to dance. I turned the next corner, hoping to get a bit further away from the crowd, when I saw a familiar pair.
Todd and Parker were in a huddle, heads bowed together, obviously discussing something serious.
Goosebumps grew on my arm.
What were they discussing so urgently?
I approached them. “Hey guys.”
They bristled, suddenly growing quiet.
“Oh, hi, Georgia,” Parker said.
“What are you guys doing here, off by yourselves?” I asked. Hey, I’d once been on the police force, being direct had never been a problem for me.
Todd leveled his eyes at me. “We’re discussing strategy.”
Apparently, Todd didn’t have a problem being direct, either.
Parker made a face, as if he didn’t agree with Todd sharing their secret. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Parker press a finger to his lips to silence Todd.
“What kind of strategy?” I asked.
Todd glared at me. “How to win the show, obviously.”
An uncomfortable sensation snaked around my belly. There was a lot of money at stake on the show.
How far would someone go to make sure he or she won?
“You’re not even on the same team,” I said. “Are you guys colluding?”
“You’re one to talk,” Todd said.
Before I could respond, Parker asked, “You’re in tight with the producers, huh? Is that why you’re still here?”
I squinted at him. “What do you mean?”
Parker shrugged. “Your boyfriend’s gone missing. I figured a thing like that might make you quit the show.”
A chill rushed up my spine.
“How are you going to do the show without a partner?” Todd asked.