The group gave Hector a round of applause, although more subdued, since his photo page had captured the expressive images from Courtney's funeral.
Brandon gave me the look and pointed at his watch, reminding me of the meeting that needed to take place prior to eight a.m. I followed four others into the glass house.
“Come on in and take a seat everyone. We don't have a great deal of time,” said Brandon, Andi sitting to his right. Her attire had changed a bit the last few days, undoubtedly to fit in with the high school trends of the day. She was squeezed into a tight mini-skirt, with a form-fitted scoop shirt, and sizable heels. Rose and Hector also joined us in the glass house. Stu was still dealing with the loss of his daughter, which, frankly, is another reason why I'd introduced the new morale booster, the Jalapeno Award.
“To keep everyone in the loop, we need to quickly discuss the pros and cons of an opportunity Andi has in her new assignment.” Brandon glanced at Andi, who peeked at the time on her cell phone.
Intrigued, I decided to listen, holding back my concerns regarding her youth and lack of experience. Not to say I wasn't proud of her, but our run-in at the mall had made me wonder if she was more unaware of her surroundings than I'd hoped.
From her seat, Andi volunteered, “Let me start by saying that the experience thus far has been helpful. I've gotten to know some of the kids, and they've begun to trust me,” she said confidently. "It's eye-opening, that's for certain. At this point, I wouldn't want us to publish any stories. It would blow my cover, and there's nothing meaty just yet."
“Good to hear, Andi. Sounds like your journalistic instincts are working appropriately,” I said, drawing a smile back from her.
“Here's the deal, since we don't have much time, and I need to give my new friends an answer today.” She inhaled a deep breath in preparation for her next comment. “I've been asked to join them for their spring break trip.”
She paused and glanced around the room. We all hesitated, likely each conjuring up our own thoughts about what that meant, possibly recalling our own experiences when we were young, naïve, and fearless.
“Before you say anything, realize the nature of my assignment. I've been trying to infiltrate a group of people who use and possibly deal drugs, and I've already seen it up close, both the using and, I suspect, the dealing. But, I've survived just fine, without being called out or asked to do anything I wouldn't normally do.”
All eyes were on me, knowing we needed to make a big decision, but with little time.
“Did you know about this?” I flipped my head toward Brandon.
“I plead the Fifth,” he said. I gave him another look, as if to say that answer wouldn't suffice. Brandon confessed, “She only said something this morning before our meeting.”
I looked around the room, searching for the right answer, or another question.
“I don't want to sound like your father, but I feel like I'm responsible for you. We can't be reckless about the situations we put you in,” I said, still pondering my decision.
“There's something you need to know before you make the call,” she said, hesitating slightly. “Their spring break trip is not in the states. We're going to Puerto Vallarta.”
My elbow slipped off the arm of the chair. Suave, I was not. I attempted to recover by leaning over to act like I was picking up a dropped pen. I felt eight eyes staring me down.
“Foreign country means a different set of laws, a different set of rules.” I knew I was pointing out the obvious, but I was still caught off guard by this additional twist in an already dangerous situation.
“Sir, Mr. Doyle...”
“Michael,” I corrected her. We were all on a first-name basis on my staff. “Go on.”
“Michael, with all due respect, I'm twenty-one years old, not fourteen. I can do anything legally in this country right now.”
“You're right. You can drink, you can smoke, you can go see R-rated movies without your mommy. But your mommy won't be in the foreign country to help when you're scared.” More sarcasm. I begged off a bit with a stern tone. “Seriously, I'm sure all of you are aware of the violence in parts of Mexico, mostly along the border but also at times in the tourist cities, all related to the drug world.”
I stood and paced the meeting room. Heads followed my every moment like a tennis match as I nearly wore down the carpet to the concrete. I was a pacer—the continuous movement always helped me think through problems a little more clearly. Trip or no trip, I finally came to the conclusion that I needed to trust the people who put it on the line for this paper, and me, every day.
“Andi, you're going to be a bit tardy today. Before we make a final decision on this, I need to tell all of you a secret I've been keeping.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“You're finally coming out of the closet?” joked Brandon, attempting to play down the seriousness of my upcoming comments.
I glanced around the room, and not everyone interpreted Brandon's question as a gag.
“That might be news to my wife.” A quick flash of last night's lovemaking session interrupted my business-first brain. Still standing, I rested my hands on my chair, giving myself a final moment to determine how I wanted to share this news and what it meant in this crazy whirlwind we were experiencing on so many levels.
“Guys, I've gotten to know each of you, some better than others, here in the last year or so,” I said, looking at each of them. “I think each of you have strong character and are good at what you do. If you weren't, you wouldn't be here. So, I need to trust that what I'm going to tell you stays in this room, that you not discuss this, unless initiated by me, outside of this room. No exceptions. Is everyone clear?”
Four heads nodded, and all eyes stayed on me.
“What I'm about to tell you involves Arthur Spanarkel, our publisher. I know I run things around here, but he's my mentor, and he's become a close friend.”
I didn't know how to introduce the topic, so I just hit the target head on.
“His wife Trudy was abducted fifteen days ago...in Puerto Vallarta.”
“Oh my Lord in heaven,” Rose gasped and quickly looked up to the ceiling.
“Do we know if she's okay? How's Arthur handling this? What's being done to get her home safely?” Brandon asked in rapid fire.
“Okay, let me answer each of those important questions. We think she's doing okay. Arthur had a chance to speak to her on the phone, with me listening in. For Arthur, it's been traumatic, and it's wearing on him, mentally, physically, and emotionally.”
Silence cloaked the room, as they soaked in the information. I skipped the last question for a moment, instead telling them that I'd become Arthur's main source of support, advising him during each step in this process as best I knew how. I also went on to provide details on the ransom process and the nature of how they'd communicated with Arthur.
“I can see why none of this has found its way to our newspaper,” Brandon said. “Have you guys involved the police or FBI?”
“The kidnappers threatened to kill her if we did—so no. Believe me, at each step, we've thought about it, but decided if we do, then we might never see her again,” I said. “As it turns out, they want Arthur to personally bring the second half of the money in exchange for Trudy. In Mexico.”
“That sounds like good news, right?” Andi's voice wavered slightly.
“That's exactly what I thought. Then, as you think about it more, this would be in a foreign country, and your mind starts to wonder what could go wrong. This is why I've decided, of course, with permission from my better half, to travel with Arthur to Mexico.”
The team responded positively, understanding my concern for Arthur—and, therefore, my hesitation in allowing Andi to join her new friends on her spring break trip to sunny, and possibly deadly, Puerto Vallarta.
“Sir, I feel like I'm getting close to some very relevant, possibly case-breaking information. I don't want to oversell it before I get there, but I feel like
this trip will allow these kids to drop their inhibitions, enabling me to get to the bottom of this. We might be able to find out who actually supplied the drugs that killed Courtney and the other kids.”
I scratched my chin, wondering if I should take the risk on Andi. I also wondered if she would go whether we approved the trip or not.
“Andi, you have my blessing, but I want you, Brandon, and I to be in constant communication. Let's make sure our cell phones will work down there,” I said, drawing an approving smile from the young journalist.
“And by the way, if you run in to me again while we're both in Puerto Vallarta, please try not to spill anything on me.”
“Got it boss, I mean, Mr. Doyle, sir.”
“Just call me, Michael, please. I'm not that old...yet.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
For many of the Blue Willow Club members, visiting the home owned by Emilia Valdez was a can't-miss event, one that members circled on their calendars. In fact, most would use this occasion as a good excuse to buy that one dress they'd been eyeing for months, and a trip to the salon was a must. Emilia had collected a vast array of china patterns, all of which had their own historical meaning and relevance. She'd also extended her collection obsession to formal stemware made from cut crystal.
Nestled in the pristine King William District near downtown San Antonio, her home had grown into a mecca of precious and priceless antiques. One in particular was close to her heart. It was a simple-looking side table, the only true antique she'd shared with her husband, Edgar, prior to his tragic death.
“Would you like some more tea?” Emilia offered to two guests admiring her towering grandfather clock in the front hallway.
“Oh, Emilia, where do you find these incredible pieces?” One of the blue-haired ladies gently touched the side of the clock.
“I'm always on the lookout. Sometimes I just stumble on them. A few I've read about and then hunted them down.” Emilia beamed with pride.
Emilia turned to offer other guests a tea refill, and she overheard the first woman talking under her breath. “This is like a mini-museum. You'd have to rob a bank to pay for all of this.”
Many of the women gathered around the oval coffee table with a glass inlay. Emilia momentarily thought of the irony. She'd received the Mexican antique coffee table as an extra appreciation gift from her employer a couple of years back. She wondered how many lines of coke had been snorted on it before it had entered her home. She blinked her eyes to dismiss the momentary sting of guilt.
“Emilia, you must tell me what you put in these snacks,” said one lady, who had traveled from Nacogdoches for this party.
“The frozen snack is a paleta—looks like a popsicle. I've made it in a couple of flavors. You have the cappuccino flavor. The other one is made from orchata, a cinnamon-based Mexican rice drink.”
“It's to die for.” The lady crammed down her third paleta.
“Indeed.” Emilia excused herself to continue making the party rounds.
The ladies lingered as long as possible, since many had driven in from all around the state, and even a few from Louisiana, and a pair from Oklahoma. Emilia enjoyed entertaining and showing off her immaculate home, but as the afternoon passed, she grew a bit tired of the social activity and was ready for some downtime.
“Oh, Emilia, can you tell us the story behind this line of stemware? These are just exquisite,” said one of two remaining elderly women.
“Well...”
The phone rang, and Emilia walked into the kitchen to answer it, offering her a brief respite from the lingering guests. Seconds later, she stuck her head back into the living room.
“I'm sorry, this is an important call,” she said in her sweet voice.
“No worries, we'll let ourselves out,” the ladies said in unison. Emilia waited for the door to shut, then hurriedly put the phone to her ear.
“Francisco, what have you learned?” asked Emilia, not wasting time for small talk.
“I do have some news to share, but I didn't have a chance to tell you where I'm at right now when we spoke a few days ago,” said the longtime aviator. “I've been clean myself for many years.” There was a long pause, as if Francisco was waiting for a response. None came.
“As a result, I've transitioned into a legitimate business person. I'm a pilot contractor, usually piloting the private jets used by corporations or wealthy investors. In other words, I'm out of the old business.”
Another period of silence.
Then Emilia said firmly, “Francisco, all of that is fine, but what have you learned about the American woman who has been kidnapped?”
“I don't have the same sources I once had, and I wasn't that eager to talk to them, honestly. But then I got a call, and some information kind of fell into my lap, so to speak.”
“What do you mean?”
“I received a call from someone named Benicio. He wasn't very polished, and it seemed like he was reading from a book, but he told me I could make five thousand dollars if I transported an American man down to Puerto Vallarta here in a few days,” Francisco recalled. “He said I'd receive a specific flight plan that I'd need to follow, which would allow me to go undetected by American and Mexican authorities. The whole conversation gave me the chills. It reminded me of how Edgar and I used to operate many moons ago.”
“This is very interesting that they would call you right after I call you for the first time in, what, seven or eight years?” she said, not knowing if she should trust her husband's former business partner.
“Emilia, I told you I'm out of the business,” he said with conviction. This Benicio person had a lot of information, but I didn't get the feeling that he was leading everything. He seemed too unsure of himself.
“He said he received my name as referral from an old cartel buddy years ago. At times, I wonder if I'll ever be able to escape my past,” he said longingly.
Emilia was thinking through her next steps, if she was to believe Francisco's story.
“One more thing, Emilia. He mentioned that the man's name is Arthur. Amazingly, I believe this is the same man I flew back from Mexico a short time ago, minus his wife. He had an injured ankle and was very upset. This is the same person, no?”
“Si, Francisco. It's very strange how small our world is,” she said, still wondering if she could rely on a person who used to lie for a living. Then again, she thought, wasn't her life one big fabrication?
Emilia processed everything she'd just heard and connected the pieces of information, feeling more certain the people at the root of this tragedy were nose-deep in the industry that had provided her with so many creature comforts.
“Arthur is close friends with my daughter, Marisa, and her husband, Michael. I'm afraid Michael is compelled to go with Arthur to help him out. And as you might imagine, I'm concerned for my son-in-law's safety. Also, I've gotten to know Arthur a bit. He's a nice man and is quite distraught.”
She took in a deep breath and prayed she could rely on her instincts.
“Are you willing to help us, Francisco?”
“Edgar and I worked together for many years, with many adventures, and one last tragedy. He always spoke about his beloved Marisa. He loved her so much, which is why I think he was trying to give her a better life.”
Emilia thought she heard a sniffle on the other end of the line.
“For Edgar...for Marisa, I will do what I can to help. I will take this journey into my past,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Driving her second car, a seven-year-old Toyota Camry, Emilia headed up I-35 towards the Metroplex. Not wanting to be seen as a bothersome mother-in-law, this time she called her daughter to ask if it was okay for her to visit, her third in the last few weeks. She could hear the hesitation in Marisa's voice, but she knew she had to address this difficult topic in person. In the past, she rarely confronted Marisa with information that would create consternation.
Thankfully, Marisa had developed into a m
ature, responsible adult, and hopefully, one day a loving mother. Emilia knew she couldn't take credit for many of those traits, but still looked forward to days of rocking her first grandchild.
She thought about the type of husband her Marisa had married. It warmed her heart when she saw Michael peer into Marisa's eyes on their wedding day and tell her that he loved her. Early on, before she'd met Michael, she wondered if her daughter had wrongly allowed herself to fall for a man who wouldn't reciprocate her dedication, her commitment to the relationship. The more she thought about Marisa and Michael's path together, the more she realized that patience indeed was a virtue ...that and sensing the true intentions of your partner. Once again, she wondered where Marisa had developed those wonderful qualities.
Emilia pulled into Marisa's neighborhood and immediately was reminded that she'd made a good decision to drive her inconspicuous Camry. While it wasn't as comfortable or luxurious as her Lexus, she knew she couldn't let her Marisa and Michael see her opulent extravagances. It would lead to questions she couldn't answer. As she rolled into the driveway, Michael was just shutting his car door, likely coming home from another day as the associate publisher of the Times Herald.
She noticed a puzzled look on his face. Oh crap, she thought, Marisa didn't tell him that his mother-in-law was showing up again this evening.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Mama Emilia, what a pleasant surprise” I gave her a half hug, while rolling my eyes out of her sight since I stood almost a foot taller than her.
“Hey, baby, look who I saw loitering on the street,” I said jokingly as I entered the house, holding Mama Emilia's bag.
Marisa didn't blink and raised both eyebrows. She'd forgotten to tell me.
“When did you find out?” I whispered in the kitchen to my wife.
“It's been a hectic day at work. We had auditors show up out of nowhere, and I felt like I was on a leash. She just called me this afternoon. It sounded like she had a real purpose this time, so I said it was fine.”
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