Jeff hefted a Styrofoam cooler with the OXXO logo into the back seat. “Cold beer, ice, and,” he rummaged in a plastic bag, “potato chips.”
“How much beer?”
“Two six packs.”
“Good. La Paz is about a six pack drive away now. Pop one for me, okay?”
“Aren’t you going to call Barry first?”
“Not until I’ve had at least two Tecates.”
“Understandable. Drive on .”
***
Thirty minutes and those two Tecates later, I popped a third after pulling over into a turnout right under a cell tower. “Okay, here goes. Calling Barry. Let’s hope the SOB answers.”
“I have a feeling that would be a very long distance call. I’m going to go water a cactus. Good luck.”
I dialed my ex-boyfriend’s cell phone in Cabo, took a glug of beer and waited. It went to voicemail just as Jeff returned. I shook my head.
“No luck, huh?”
“No, and something isn’t right. He always answers, to the point of annoying. Even leaves it on all night, in case someone gets drunk and decides to buy a timeshare.”
“Anyone else you can call to check on him?”
I thought about it. “His boss at headquarters in Los Angeles, I guess. But, if I use my US phone, I can’t remain anonymous. I’m certain Da Boss, as we call him, has my Caller ID in his phone.”
“How about if I call?”
“Let’s talk this through. What are you gonna say? ‘Hi, Rich, this is a guy who picked up Becky in a bar last night after she and Barry had a fight, and now his bed is full of bloodstains. What’s the haps?’”
I caught him in mid-gulp and he snorted beer out his nose. After a few sneezes he honked, “Don’t do that!”
“Sorry. What would you say?”
“I dunno. Let’s work on it.”
After another beer we were ready.
I dialed the number for him and waited anxiously while it rang. He had the phone on speaker, so I could listen.
“Good afternoon. Welcome to Your Time, Richard here. What can I help you with today?
“Hey, I think this is the right number. My name is Jim and I’m down here in Cabo on vacation. I ran into a guy named Gary, Perry, or something like that, and he told me about a timeshare I might be interested in.”
“You mean Barry?”
“Yeah, that might be it. Anyhow, he wrote his number, and this one, on a napkin, but I keep getting his voicemail on his. I’m leaving tomorrow, so thought I’d give you a call.”
There was a long pause. “You still there, Richard?”
“Uh, yes. When did you say Barry gave you my number?”
“Last night.”
“I see. Uh, I’m afraid that Barry is…no longer with us.”
“Really? I thought he was a pretty good salesman, myself. Hell, he snagged me, didn’t he? You can him, or did he quit?”
“I’m sorry to report Barry met with a tragic…passing.”
Jeff paused appropriately. “He’s dead?
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Jeez, just goes to show you. Bummer. Seemed like a nice guy. What happened?”
“We aren’t sure yet. The Mexican police are investigating.”
“Is there someone else I can contact down here about the timeshare? One of the other sales people?” Jeff asked, successfully sounding like a shallow, self-centered dude and doing a great job of it.
Richard gave him another phone number in Cabo. Not mine, I noticed.
“Well, thanks. Sorry about your guy, Dude.”
After Jeff ended that disturbing call with headquarters we fell silent, then he put his arm around me. “You okay?”
Shrugging him off, I stomped toward the water, then doubled back, grabbed the second six pack from the cooler, and took off down the beach. Jeff followed at a respectable distance.
I bawled for at least a half-mile. Okay, so Barry was a controlling, back-stabbing jerk, but our first year was…the best we had together. He wasn’t all-bad, and there were moments when I thought we might last, and I’d just seen him the night before. Suddenly learning he was dead was a shock, even though after that breakup dinner I was ready to kill him myself. Especially after George, the hotel desk clerk, told me—
“Oh, crap on a cracker,” I yelled as my legs buckled under me and I sank down on the sand.
A nearby seagull squawked and took to the air as I did a butt plant on his territory. Putting my head in my hands, I screamed and cursed and screamed some more. When my tirade finally petered out, Jeff dared to approach.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No. I’m an idiot.”
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes. Look at me. I’ve let Muffie lead me around by the…nose…for far too long. Mind if I have one of those beers?”
I handed him the six-pack ring with four left. “I am so screwed.”
He patted my shoulder. “I’ll make sure you find a place to go. Don’t worry about that part. I have money.”
“No, it’s not that. At the hotel, when I was in the lobby before you arrived and knocked me down?”
“That’s not exactly…never mind. What?”
“Remember I told you the desk clerk at your hotel told me Barry had a track record with women.”
“Yeah, evidently a bad one.”
“As you might also recall, I was pretty drunk when he told me that, and I kinda said something like I was surprised someone hadn’t offed him. I’ve read enough detective novels and watched enough “Murder She Wrote” episodes to know what happens to people who make that kind of remark right before someone ends up murdered.”
“Oh, come on. That’s Hollywood stuff. We all say things like that.”
“Yes, but we’re in Mexico. One little slip-up like that and I’m thrown into the Cabo carcel until proven innocent. And trust me, they ain’t gonna be looking very hard for who actually done it. Not when they already have me.”
Chapter Five
After we finished off the last of the six pack, I stuffed the plastic ringed holder into my pocket so I could cut it into tiny pieces later; I’d helped rescue too many birds, turtles, and even fish trapped by plastic death traps over the years. I keep heavy-duty kitchen scissors in my car for these emergencies, as well as canvas bags for picking up beach litter. It now contained our beer cans, duly smushed by Jeff in that dude thing they do.
We’d considered our limited options while depleting the beer supply, but in my mind, there was no “our” in this mess. If Jeff was smart, he’d distance himself from me, fast!
“What do we do now?” he asked.
“We? Look, Jeff, I like you a lot and truly appreciate your helping me out thus far, but the situation has changed. The best thing for you to do is catch a plane home. We’ve been seen together. I spent the night in your hotel room. Trust me, tongues are wagging back in Cabo, and the gossip mill will sic the cops on me, pronto. I’ll drop you off in the outskirts of La Paz so you can catch a cab to the airport, and by then maybe I’ll have an idea what I’m going to do.”
“Look, Becky,” he mimicked me, “we’ll discuss this further when we get our heads straight. We’ve demolished two six-packs in under three hours. That’s not the best strategy for making any important decisions. Isn’t there somewhere around here where we can safely get a room. Rooms?”
“I know of one I stayed in years ago when my dad brought the family with him on one of his yearly fishing trips. Rancho Buena Vista. GOF joint.”
“Golf?”
“No. GOF. Guys Out Fishing.”
“How far is it?”
I hooked my thumb behind us. “A few miles thataway, and the road is paved.”
“Then let’s roll.”
“You got it, mi copilote. ¡Adelante!”
***
When we pulled onto the hotel’s grounds, I told my copilot, “Wow, welcome to my time capsule. Nothing has changed.”
“And, it looks like from a time long before you were here with your dad. So far I love it, as long as there are no historic bed bugs.”
“Ha. Daddy used to talk about fishing with the likes of Bing Crosby and the Rifleman, Chuck whatever his name was. There weren’t any celebs here when he brought us down that time, but I caught my first dorado, and even helped haul in a sailfish. We ate the dorado, a thirty-pounder, for dinner that night, and released the sailfish.”
“Sure looks like my kind of place, Becky. Gee, you think they might have rooms?” Jeff said, his tone sardonic as he pointedly stared at the empty parking lot.
“Don’t be fooled. Working in Cabo, we sent many a load of tourists here by van.
“Okay, I’ll go see if we can stay for the night. Let me do the checking in. I think you might want to lay low. Just in case. That way you won’t have to use that fake ID of yours again.”
“What fake ID?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.
“The one you flashed when you bought the burner phone.”
“Nosy Britches.”
“Yes, I am. Maybe someday you’ll tell me why you have faux identifications.”
“None of your bidness. Now, you get the rooms, but pay with cash.”
“Jeez, Boss, I hadn’t tagged you for a buy me, take me, bring me broad.”
“Shows how little you know.”
Luck was with us. We got a room with two double beds, but only because they had a cancellation. As I predicted, there was a load of anglers due in later. The place had been revamped some since my family was here, but the laid-back ambiance was as I remembered it. No TV, no telephone, fifties—maybe even forties—construction. The perfect place to hide out, and not where anyone would take notice of a couple on a Baja “honeymoon” trip.
Once in the room, I threw myself on a bed and moaned with pleasure. “Heaven! I am so tired I think I could sleep for a week.”
“Same here, but we have to check out tomorrow. We were lucky to get this room for one night. Actually, I could use a nap right now myself, then we’ll have dinner. That okay with you?”
“Uh-huh.” I had already turned onto my side and was fading fast.
***
“Becky? You awake?”
“I am now. Leave me alone.”
“Okay, but if you want dinner, we have less than an hour before the kitchen closes, and all those fishermen got here about two hours ago.”
“Can’t we get room service?” I murmured. “I don’t have a thing to wear.” I pulled the rock hard pillow over my face, which reminded me that my pillow, the soft and malleable one, was buried on a beach.
Jeff leaned over and whispered into my ear. “Margaritas?”
That got my attention, so I threw the pillow to the foot of the bed.
“Okay, you got me. But, I still want delivery.”
“How about this? I’ll go order and bring the food and drinks back? We can eat on our own patio. Believe it or not, we have a sea view.”
Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes. “Oh, you wouldn’t mind? That would be so nice. Anything you choose will be great. I’ll jump in the shower while you’re gone. I owe you.”
He gave me an evil grin. “And I plan to collect. That’s something we’ll discuss later.”
Hmmm, that sounded mighty flirtatious if you ask me.
***
There is nothing like hot water to soothe damaged nerve endings. As I washed my hair I felt the lump on my head, which was still tender, but much smaller. At least there’s that, I thought.
The past twenty-four hours had been way too eventful, and there was no doubt in my mind that the Mexican police would issue an APB on me, if they hadn’t already.
I wrapped myself in a towel, and my hair in another and left the bathroom, prepared to put on clean but wrinkled clothes I’d stuffed into my bag at Barry’s place, but on my bed lay a long, rust-colored, cotton kaftan.
Jeff, bless his heart, was outside the glass sliders, lighting lanterns on our patio table. I could have kissed him.
I dodged back into the bathroom, slipped the kaftan on and towel dried my hair into some semblance of shape, and even blew it somewhat dry. I added a little blush and mascara and declared myself passable.
Outside, a slight breeze ruffled my free-flowing kaftan, and the caress of the lighter-than-air fabric made me feel downright sylphlike. I hadn’t experienced that luxury for a very long time, and it felt good. Despite my worries, I vowed to enjoy dinner with the man who made it all possible. Then kick him to the curb as soon as we got into the outskirts of La Paz. I’m romantic that way.
Jeff stood when I joined him, handing me a huge Margarita and wolf-whistling his approval. “You know, Re…uh, Becky. You look wonderful.”
I clinked my glass to his and took a bow. “Thank you, kind sir, a thousand times, thank you. This is sooo much better than dining with a bunch of boozed up fishing dudes on vacay. And I love, love, love this dress.”
“I thought the color would go well with your hair.”
“Are you, by any chance, gay?”
“What? No. Why?”
“It’s just that you seem way too nice, and have way too much fashion sense, for a straight guy. You’ll have to forgive me if I sound cynical. The past twenty-four hours—who am I kidding? the past five years—have not been conducive to me thinking favorably towards the opposite sex.” I realized how that sounded, and added, “Except for the kindness of strangers.” I clinked his glass again.
“It’s okay, you have every right to be pissed. I don’t know about the past few years, but for sure Barry sounds like a bounder.”
“Let us not befoul our dinner alfresco with any more mention of el hijo de puta.”
“Done, fair lady.” Jeff pulled out my chair for me to sit. That hadn’t happened in a long time. At least since I left Texas. A wave of nostalgia swept over me and I teared up.
He handed me a napkin. “You okay?”
I smiled and dabbed my eyes. “Yes. Just felt a little homesick all of a sudden.”
“I’ll help you get home safe and sound, I promise. Enough of that. Back to what you said earlier. I’m sort of flattered to be called fashionable. So, you really like the muumuu, huh?”
I howled with laughter. “Whoa, there goes your fashionista badge.”
“Why?”
“Muumuus, my dear boy, are brightly printed and shapeless. They’re matronly, frumpy and unflattering. This,” I pulled on my sleeve, “is a kaftan.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Kaftans are gauzy, silky and elegant.” I stood, whirled, and vamped a look back over my shoulder.
He blushed. “Certainly fits you. Ok, maybe not the gauzy part. Did I at least get the color right, Re…Becky?”
“Absotively. It is my favorite. And, you have earned the right to call me Red,” I breathed, then turned away to hide my own blush. All of a sudden the nickname didn’t sound so bad, and something electric hung in the air between us. Something I’d pull the plug on the next day in La Paz.
Jeff jumped to his feet. “I think our dinner must be ready. And I’ll get us some wine.”
He returned ten minutes later with two hotel employees in his wake. They laid out our food, and uncorked the wine before leaving with a fat tips.
Our verandah was designed to shield us from an evening offshore wind while watching the sun disappear behind distant desert mountains. Soft classical guitar music rode on the breeze from the hotel, a crisp white Chilean wine went perfectly with our fresh fish, and I almost forgot my dilemma.
Jeff charmingly talked about everything except Cabo and our exes, keeping the subject as neutral as one can these days. It’s getting to where you can’t have an opinion without offending someone, but he was drawing me out, finding neutral ground. I know when I’m being subtly coerced, and he was way too good at it.
“What are you, some kind of shrink?” I asked when he posed one too many seemingly bland questions in order to get information from me.
Obviously, subtlety isn’t one of my strong points.
He looked slightly shocked. “No, I’m not. Why would you think that?”
“Cuz you’re making me way too…comfortable.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“It’s…forget it. The past five years have been…never mind. Isn’t this fish to die for? I hope they have flan at the bar. I’m starting to feel human again. Good food, good company.” I lifted my glass in a toast.
“Santé. Maybe we can help each other recover from being dissed.”
“Dissed? I’d say. Anyhow, let’s go back to discussing something totally inane.”
“Sure. You like plain yogurt?”
After finishing our meal, we carried the dishes into the almost empty bar, and ate a fabulous flan with our coffee and brandy.
I was sound asleep by eight-thirty, which is what is referred to as Baja midnight.
That’s me, last of the big-time party chicks.
Chapter Six
When I woke, sun streamed through the slider, and Jeff was gone.
I rummaged through my Mexican plastic carrier jammed with my entire wardrobe and, as I suspected, everything was badly wrinkled. After brushing my teeth and rubbing on some sunblock—albeit a little late, since I’d gotten pinkish the day before—I went outside wearing the kaftan I’d slept in.
Bless Jeff’s soul, a carafe of coffee and a tray with cream and sugar sat on the table. What the hell was that twit, Muffin, thinking, dumping him like she did?
I reveled in the shaded patio, enjoying a light ocean breeze and two cups of strong coffee before going to find Jeff. A guy in the lobby directed me to a high outcropping on a point about a quarter mile away, so I charged a straw hat to our room and took a walk.
Jeff stood on top of a huge boulder, talking on his phone. When he saw me, he ended the call and worked his way down to my level. “Good morning, Sunshine. You missed breakfast, but what the heck, it’s only an hour until lunch.”
“What time is it?”
He glanced at his wrist. “Ten. We have to check out at noon or so. Did you find the coffee?”
Baja Get Away Page 4