A Second Chance at Murder

by Diana Orgain

  Sergio thumped me on the back.

  “Eh! Are you okay?”

  I spit out the drink. “What is that?”

  The bartender looked insulted. “¡Calimocho!”

  I turned to Sergio, who laughed. “You asked for wine with Coke.”

  “What? No! I asked for Coke! Who drinks wine with Coke?”

  Dad grabbed my drink from in front of me. “This is a very popular cocktail here, honey.”

  “Gross!” I said.

  Dad shrugged. “It grows on you.” He took a sip of the drink and headed off to join Double D in singing “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”

  While the others were distracted I took the opportunity to talk to Sergio. “How strong was Annalise’s connection to Basque separatists?”

  He frowned. “What do you know about that?”

  “The senora at the B&B told me she was a known terrorist.”

  “Ah! La señora Antonia should keep her mouth shut,” he said.

  “Don’t be mad at her. I would have figured it out eventually. Besides, I followed Miguel, the cameraman, to a meeting.”

  Sergio looked surprised. “What? When?”

  “Just now. A while ago.”

  He smirked. “You are tricky. I thought you were out dancing and drinking. I thought, maybe, you were afraid to meet me alone at the church.”

  I ignored his remark, mostly because I didn’t know how to respond. “The meeting was at an abandoned building. Sort of like a clandestine meeting. There were a lot people. Of course, I couldn’t understand anything they said but, you know, there was an ETA banner hanging on the wall.”

  He ran a hand through his dark hair. “An ETA meeting? Here in Jaca? No. Not possible. Miguel is not part of ETA. That I know.”

  “Well, I’m not making it up!” I said.

  He stiffened. “Is this a way to get me to look into other suspects, rather than your boyfriend? The secret Mr. Matthew Barrett?”

  Part of me wanted to scream. Scott wasn’t technically my boyfriend anymore, but it didn’t matter, I was still in love with him. And yes, perhaps it was a desperate, apparently futile, attempt to get Sergio to look into someone else. Although my pride would never let me admit it.

  “An investigator has to follow all leads,” I said.

  “All reasonable leads,” he agreed.

  Anger surged in my belly and I fought the urge to stand up and scream, “Find Scott! He’s not a killer!” but instead I balled my fists. “It’s a reasonable lead,” I said.

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll ask around about Miguel.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He glanced at the others singing and dancing, then asked, “Have you received any more messages from Scott?”

  “No.”

  “Would you tell me if you had?”

  I suddenly felt chewed up and spit out. “Yes.”

  He stepped away from me, a sad expression on his face. “I have work in the morning. I hope you enjoy the fiestas.”

  Thirteen

  The following morning the crew’s bus was waiting for us outside of the B&B. The bus billowed smoke into the hot air, creating a thick layer of smog in front of the otherwise pristine driveway. Dad gripped my arm as we boarded the bus.

  “You don’t think it’s another hike, do you? I don’t think my head can take it,” he said.

  “I told you not to go overboard on the whiskey!”

  “I had whiskey?”

  Laughing, I said, “Look, I can only carry you so far.”

  Double D was already seated on the bus. Each girl was holding her head and looking miserable. They turned around and eyed us as we took the seats behind them.

  “How y’all feeling this morning?” DeeCee asked.

  Dad groaned. “Worse for the wear, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I had such a great time singing with you girls. You are amazing!”

  Daisy perked up and rooted around the purse on her lap, which seemed to double as a suitcase, she pulled out a can of hairspray and then a small vile. “Gordon, did you have too much to drink last night? I have some aspirin.”

  Dad was happy to accept the pills and eagerly popped them into his mouth.

  I leaned in toward him. “There’s no shame in losing.”

  Dad quirked a brow at me. “What are you saying?”

  “If we lose, I can search for Scott.”

  Dad squinted at me. “You don’t believe that email, do you?”

  “I don’t know what to believe.”

  Dad pressed his hand against mine. “The authorities aren’t going to let us leave Spain until they figure this thing out. Don’t worry, Georgia, Scott is going to turn up. He better have a pretty good explanation or I’m going to wring his neck.”

  I looked out the window of the small bus. The Pyrenees hovered over the town like two soldiers guarding the night. I wanted so desperately to return to the mountains. To return to the scene of the crime.

  What was there that I hadn’t been able to see?

  There were answers there, I knew it.

  Victoria and Parker clomped onto the bus. They didn’t speak to us and definitely had their game face on. The driver fired up the bus.

  “What about Cooper and Todd?” Daisy asked.

  DeeCee rubbed her temples. “I think they must have already started, right? Cooper told me he had to get up at four in the morning, because their leg of the race started at six a.m.”

  Dad moaned. “Now I’m happy you gave him that chalice,” he joked. “Nothing gets me out of bed at four a.m.” He turned to me and we said together, “Except fishing.”

  The bus turned onto a narrow street in the center of town. We drove slightly past a bakery and parked. A heavenly scent wafted through the air and there was a line of people waiting in front.

  DeeCee poked Daisy in the ribs. “We have an hour to kill before we get to start, let’s grab some coffee, and I need me a hangover donut!”

  Dad’s stomach growled and I had to pull on him by the collar to keep him with me, as Double D stalked off toward the bakery. Around the corner we saw our crew positioned around the familiar blue tarp. Harris was standing at the top of the tarp chatting with Becca. Behind them was a colorful mural, which would have been lovely, save for the black paint scrawled across the faces of the people in the painting. Cheryl was standing off to the side of the mural talking to another crew. I realized it was a Spanish media team. This must be the mural the town was trying to raise money to restore.

  “Bless her heart, Cheryl actually listened to Sergio and is trying to help!” I said.

  Dad snorted, a wicked smile on his face. “Let’s not get carried away. Probably she’s helping because she thinks it’ll get her what she wants a bit faster.”

  I laughed. “I think you’re getting to know Cheryl pretty well.”

  Harris perked up when he saw us approach, and Kyle stepped out to adjust Harris’s makeup.

  Victoria and Parker jogged over to the tarp, but Dad and I lagged behind.

  “No matter what. We’re not separating today, okay, Georgia? I don’t trust Victoria. I’d rather lose the contest than you, and that’s not a joke.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Got it, Daddy. Don’t worry!”

  We lined up in front of Harris, who exploded to life with his over-the-top TV voice. “Welcome to round two of Expedition Improbable! Where nothing can stop you but yourself!” He launched into a brief recap of yesterday’s events for the benefit of the audience, then said, “Cooper and Todd have already begun their journey, but don’t lose hope. There’s plenty of time for everyone to catch them, because in this game you never know what can happen.” He made his fingers into pistols and shot air at us. “Expect the unexpected!”

  “For this leg of the race,” Harris continued, “you will have to t
our the old town of Jaca, the casco histórico, in search of a clue that will take you on a wild, er, dare I say, wet ride. Like yesterday, you’ll begin the next challenge with whatever time advantage you secure today.”

  Harris glanced at his gold wristwatch. “And with that, the team in second place, Victoria and Parker, get ready to begin in five, four, three, two, one.” Harris held his arms up in a dramatic gesture.

  Victoria and Parker exchanged confused looks and tore off running down the street, their cameraman following them.

  Miguel panned his camera over toward us and filmed us standing on the tarp as Harris said, “Georgia, Gordon, you’ll have to wait exactly four minutes and seven seconds before you can start. So please, let me take the time to direct your attention to this historic mural.”

  Dad and I stood in front of the vandalized painting as Harris prattled on, giving attention to the historic value of the painting and also the efforts the town was making in order to restore it. He even cited a website where viewers could donate to the cause.

  Sergio would be happy indeed.

  Harris turned his attention back to the camera. “Georgia, Gordon, get ready to begin in five, four, three, two, one.” Harris shot his arms up in the same dramatic gesture as he’d given just a few minutes earlier.

  Dad shrugged and grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”

  We strolled down the cobblestone streets toward the old shopping district. Miguel filming us looking into the store windows. The displays boasted handmade leather purses and shoes, along with elaborate dresses and the latest fashions.

  “I like Spain,” I said, surprising myself. “I wish we had time to shop.”

  Dad smiled. “I wish we had time to eat! Do you want to go back to that bakery we saw?”

  “Focus! You can’t be thinking about your stomach right now. You should be thinking about the clue!”

  On the corner was a tavern where jamón serrano, the dry-cured Spanish hams, hung in the window. Dad put a hand to the glass and let out a soft puppy dog moan.

  Miguel chuckled despite himself.

  “They’re not open yet, Dad. Let’s keep moving.”

  As Dad and I continued down the street, I spotted an abrupt movement from one of the doorways up ahead. Victoria and Parker were huddling, trying to hide from us. Suddenly they burst down the street in a mad hustle.

  I ran after them. “What doorway did they come from?” I yelled to Dad.

  He jogged behind me. “The third one on the right, I think.”

  “Check inside! See what’s there,” I said, over my shoulder. I chased Victoria and Parker into a square, where they hailed a cab.

  Darn it!

  They had the clue!

  I ran back to find Dad and Miguel, but intersected them in the alley. Dad was out of breath, but handed me a note. “We have to catch a cab! Here are the directions.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get to the square.”

  Dad and I hurried to the spot Victoria and Parker had just vacated and waited for another taxi to pick us up. I reviewed the slip of paper, Grab a cab. Give the driver these directions to the Río Aragón.

  “Ah! A cab,” Dad said. “Becca is so nice not to make me run a marathon today!”

  I laughed. “Well, we don’t know what we’ll have to do when we get to the river,” I warned.

  “Hopefully not swim,” Dad said.

  A cab turned the corner and we hailed it, madly jumping up and down. The cab pulled to a stop in front of us.

  “I’m sure glad this isn’t New York,” Dad said, “where they just ignore you.”

  I laughed as I piled into the car. Miguel and Dad followed suit. I handed the driver the directions and he tore off. The cab driver was talkative, but spoke only Spanish. Miguel put down his camera and chatted amicably with him, seemingly about the race and the show.

  When there was a lull in their conversation, I touched Miguel’s shoulder and he glanced back at me. “I saw you last night going to that meeting.”

  He smiled. “Oh? Did you? I didn’t know.”

  “I would have called out to you, but I was shy. It was a pretty big meeting,” I said, gently fishing for information.

  He nodded, not taking the bait. “Did you enjoy the fiestas? Will you go out again tonight?”

  “Not me,” Dad burst out. “I think I’ll stuff my face with paella and then go to bed with a hot-water bottle.”

  “What about Cheryl?” I joked, poking Dad in the ribs. “She’ll want to dance.”

  Dad waved a hand around. “She can go. You, too. Have fun. I really don’t mind being left alone. My ego can take it.”

  We could see Victoria and Parker’s cab ahead of us. “Can you overtake that taxi?” I asked the driver.

  He didn’t respond, so I was about to ask Miguel to translate, when the cab in front of us suddenly swerved dangerously into our lane. Our driver slammed the brakes and yanked the car to the right, directly into a mailbox. The right front tire popped in a dramatic flourish. The driver let out a stream of what I could only imagine were Spanish expletives.

  “I really don’t like that Victoria girl,” Dad said.

  “Is everyone all right?” I asked.

  Dad and Miguel nodded as we all tumbled out of the cab. Miguel filmed the damage on the car while he soothed the driver, who looked like he was about to have a stroke. I surveyed the area. We were now in a more modern part of Jaca. Bigger buildings surrounded us and people dressed in business suits rushed past. Almost immediately a motorcycle cop pulled over to take the driver’s statement.

  “Now what?” Dad asked. “Do we catch another cab? It doesn’t look like there are many in this area.”

  We both looked at Miguel for help. He was filming us and couldn’t speak, so instead he indicated for us to walk up the street. When we crested the hill, I saw what looked like a five-star hotel with a fleet of cabs waiting in a turnstile. Dad and I picked up the pace, ready to get in the next cab.

  We pulled open the door to the first cab in the waiting line and piled into the back. As Miguel loaded his camera into the front seat, I turned to check out the hotel.

  There was a doorman dressed in a red uniform, he held the door open for a couple exiting the building. I realized I recognized the couple.

  Sergio and Montserrat stood in the doorway of the hotel. What were they doing here? Were they investigating a new clue? One that could possibly lead to finding Scott?

  The cab driver pulled away from the curb and as we merged into traffic I saw the name of the hotel in neon lights.

  My breath caught.

  Spanish Moon . . .

  Fourteen

  I said nothing on the ride out of town. We followed the mighty Río Aragón north, meandering through some off-roads for about thirty minutes. As we drove toward the Pyrenees, the roads turned to dirt and the ride became more bumpy. The bumpier the road, the quieter I got.

  Spanish Moon.

  That was the title of the book Scott’s mom said he’d been working on when he visited Spain. What were Sergio and Montserrat doing at the hotel? Could Scott be staying there?

  When we arrived at a grassy clearing, the cab pulled over and dropped us off. A makeshift pole with a clear plastic box mounted to it was visible from where we stood. On the pole was a flag with the show’s bull’s-eye emblem. Dad and I hiked over to the box and pulled out the next note.

  The note read: Find your swimsuit and brave the rapids to the finish line. Be nice, you might have to share!

  Dad and I frantically looked around and found a trail that led toward the river. Along the way, there were several swimsuits hanging on the trees. Some of the suits were revealing bikinis, which I’d just as soon leave for Double D. I selected the most conservative offering, a one-piece suit in marine blue. Dad opted out of the Speedos and luckily found a pair of flowe
red boarder shorts.

  “They are so you,” I said, laughing.

  Dad grinned. “I know those evil producers probably were hoping I’d select the Speedos, but hey, maybe Parker wants them.”

  “Victoria and Parker have to be ahead of us, right?”

  Dad shrugged. “With any luck, maybe their taxi blew a flat.”

  “Maybe their raft will blow a flat,” I said.

  Dad and I hiked along the narrow trail, with Miguel documenting our every move. It wasn’t long before Dad broke out in a sweat.

  “When do we hit the water?” Dad asked. “It’s going to feel good today. What a scorcher!”

  Soon, the trail bottomed out to a sandy riverbank. Victoria was on the bank already in her swimsuit and life jacket. Parker was seated on a boulder with his back to the river, the cameraman taping him alone, presumably for his confessional. At some point, we were supposed to pour our hearts out privately to the camera. Well, as privately as you could when you knew your message would be broadcast in front of millions of viewers.

  Victoria scampered to her feet when she saw us. “You finally got here, huh?”

  “No thanks to you,” Dad said. “What kind of stunt was that you pulled in the cab?”

  Victoria batted her eyelashes at Dad. “I don’t know what you mean, those cabbies here in Spain can’t drive worth a hill of beans! Anyway, you haven’t missed much. Parker and I got here a few minutes ago. One raft floated down and we couldn’t reach it in time. So here we are.”

  I gritted my teeth, recalling the note: Be nice, you might have to share!

  That was Cheryl’s way of making sure we all got onto the same raft together. That would definitely make for more drama, ergo more ratings.

  Miguel pointed to a grassy area off to the left that was carpeted with wildflowers. “That would make a nice background, Gordon. Let’s get your confessional.”

  Dad and Miguel tromped off, leaving me alone with Victoria. She scooped a handful of pebbles from the bank and began to throw them in the river, one by one, doing her best to avoid me.