Take the Money: Romantic Suspense in Costa Rica (7 page)

Nellie’s eyes watered. “I’m just trying to put together a staff.  Only been here a month.  I’m beginning to think I made a mistake.”

Julie looked around, counting tables. “You mean it’s only you and her to wait on customers?”

“Oh, no.  I have a chef, and a couple of waiters.  But it’s not enough to get me through.  On the other hand, if I make this girl angry, she’s liable to quit.”

“I know how to wait tables,” Julie said. “Would you be interested in some temporary part time help?”

“Would I?  My God, would you be willing to stick around for awhile?”

“Just for a few days, maybe.”

Nellie stepped back and closed her eyes, mumbling to herself.

“What did you say?” Julie asked.

“I’m saying thank you, God.”  Nellie answered. “When can you start?”

“First, do you want me to tell this young woman she can go?”

“Sure.  That is, if you’re willing to be back here in a few hours.” Julie told the girl everything was settled then looked at her watch.  One o’clock.  “I have some errands to run,” she said.  “And I need to find a cheap place to stay.”

“I can tell you where I’m staying,” Nellie said.  “But it’s not too fancy.”

“As long as it’s clean and safe.”

Nellie said, “It’s on San Jose Blvd., on the street behind the Gran Hotel.  And they even serve breakfast.  It’s called La Casa Verde.  I guess it’s as safe as anyplace; the owner packs a pistol.”

“I’ve never seen a city with so many armed men,” Julie said.  “I thought Costa Rica was supposed to be a peaceful country.”

“It is a peaceful country; they don’t even have a militia. They tell me rape and murder is rare.  But you can see the people are poor, plus all the Nicaraguan’s milling around.  There’s a lot of theft.”

Julie tightened her grip on her backpack. “I don’t have much for anyone to steal.” 

“You’re smarter than most women from the States,” Nellie said. They walk around flashing diamonds and expensive jewelry.  It’s not at all uncommon for a gold chain to be pulled off someone’s neck.  I’ve even heard about earrings being yanked out of women’s ears.”

“Yikes.  That would hurt.”

“Yeah.  And it’s a bloody mess, too.  Literally.” 

“But there seem to be a lot of Americans here.  Especially around the Cariari where I stayed last night.”

“The Cariari?”  Nellie arched an eyebrow, then looked Julie up and down, taking in her cheap cotton clothes from the mall. “Pretty classy spot.  That’s the neighborhood where the well-heeled retirees from the States hang out, playing golf and taking advantage of low cost housing and help.”

“Too classy for me,” Julie agreed. “But I got in late and didn’t know what else to do.”  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Nellie what had prompted her to buy a restaurant in a foreign city where she could barely speak the language.  But she decided that such nosiness wasn’t smart, especially since she was nurturing a few secrets, herself.

She said, “Tell me how to find your place, and I’ll be back at five.”

The room at the La Casa Verde was $25 a night and a quick survey told Julie it was her kind of place. There was a small bed with a worn chenille bedspread, tile floors, the usual barred windows with lace curtains fluttering in the breeze. A bathroom down the hall had to be shared but Julie wasn’t one to linger, so it would be fine.  She hoped the two chickens strutting in the courtyard below wouldn’t awaken her at dawn. 

Julie arranged her meager belongings in her dresser drawer and tried to decide where to put her bankbook.  Should she tote it around everywhere she went, or was it safer hidden somewhere in the room?  She opted for pinning it to the inside pocket of her jeans.

She looked out at the brilliant blue sky where a few small clouds drifted like puffs of cotton. A shaft of warm sunlight sliced across her room, but she felt an involuntary shiver. This was not like her other adventures. All the time she was bumming around Europe and the Middle East, she’d felt like a trapeze artist with a safety net in place to break her fall.  When the risks got too high and her wanderlust sated, she could always count on running back to boring old Lewiston.  Now she wondered if she could ever go home again.

Why hadn’t she gone to the police, taken her chances?   She must have been half in shock.  But the chilling memory returned.  Once again she envisioned the menacing stance of the white-haired man at the top of the hill coldly surveying the scene where he had arranged for a man to die.  Kevin’s last warning echoed in her mind.
They’ll get you too.
She pressed her palms against the sides of her head, finding it difficult to breathe.

She had never felt so alone.

FIVE

The Sycamore, Lewiston’s oldest office building, wasn’t too classy. Wiser businessmen had fled the crumbling brick and cement building with its high ceilings, thick walls and dingy hallways. “For Lease” signs were posted on several interior doors. The only remaining tenants were down-at-the-heel lawyers, a few aging doctors and the usual fly-by-niters.

Bare wooden floorboards moaned beneath the weight of Maggie’s footsteps as she emerged from the vintage elevator and hurried down the hall to Mike Basinki’s office.  Black letters, peeling at the edges, were glued onto frosted window glass:

MIKE BASINKI

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

Maggie jiggled the loose-fitting porcelain door knob, and the door flew open with a loud rattle. Mike Basinki jumped up from behind a vintage wooden desk. 

He still had the bony angular face she remembered, but his black hair was grayer around the edges.  Deep creases fanned out from the corners of his tired brown eyes.  He wore a crisp white shirt and plain red tie under a gray tweed jacket that hung lopsided on his narrow frame.               

Maggie said:  “
Pax Vobiscum
.”

Mike intoned the ancient response: “and with you too.”

“I’m Maggie Kelley Lawson Carrithers,” she said.  “Do any of those names sound familiar?”

“I remember you, Maggie.”  Mike's voice was grave, his eyes steady.

“I wasn’t sure,” she said. “You were a year ahead of me at St. Margaret’s

It had been part of some educational scheme that the nuns had configured.  One year, you would be with the class ahead, the next year with the class below. This overlapping had supposedly benefited both the slow and fast learners, although the latter had been rare at this Catholic school in a low income neighborhood.

“Please sit down.”  Mike pointed a long finger to a wooden armchair beside the desk. 

Maggie squeezed a crumbled Kleenex to hide her nervousness as she lowered herself onto the hard seat.

“I heard you were once elected Sheriff.” she said.  “I wasn’t living here at the time.”

Mike laughed without humor. “Yes, my brief but illustrious career as a public servant.”

The room fell silent and Maggie was sorry for her inane attempt at small talk. She suddenly remembered there had been a scandal--something about his son committing a robbery while driving the sheriff’s car.  The voters had decided such failings as a father made him unfit for law enforcement.  But the Mike Basinki that she remembered had been the nun’s favorite altar boy and she had no reservations about his integrity.

“You were the only boy in the school who wore a starched long-sleeved white shirt every day.  That was something at St. Margaret’s.”

Mike gave her a tight little smile.  “My mother wanted me to be a priest.”

“Children often disappoint their mothers.” Maggie said.  “That’s partially what brings me here today.”

“Your mother?  I thought she’d passed away.”

“Not my mother, my daughter.”  Maggie found it hard to get the words past the lump in her throat.

“Sound’s serious.  Is she in some kind of trouble?”             

“I’m not sure; the thing is, she’s run off.”

“Run off?  How old is she?”

Maggie hesitated, realizing it was going to sound ridiculous reporting a twenty-seven-year-old woman as a runaway. “Okay,” she said.  “She’s a grown woman and has a right to do whatever she pleases, but I think she’s in trouble.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning,” Mike said. “And please, if you want me to do my best, don’t leave anything out.”

When Maggie was finished, Mike had a full page of notes on a yellow legal pad.  He put down his pencil and touched his forehead with his fingertips. “What do you know about Kevin DuFrain?”

“Not a lot. I think Julie was having an affair with him, although I can’t imagine why.  He certainly wasn’t her type.”

Mike’s thick black eyebrows knit together.  “Why do you say that?”

“Julie wasn’t one for casual encounters. She never dated around like other girls.  Her boyfriends were always serious, what other girls called nerds or geeks.”

“DuFrain was neither.”

“You knew him?”

“In a town this size?  You kidding?  I suppose this sounds a bit sanctimonious but he had an unsavory reputation.  From what you tell me about Julie, I’m surprised she would have gotten mixed up with him.”

“Oh God.  It was my fault--or maybe Jed’s.  Julie came back to try and decide what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.  My husband, her stepfather, got tired of a twenty-seven year sitting around reading books, getting free room and board.  He thought a college graduate ought to be doing something useful.”

“I guess I’d have to agree, although I can’t claim any prizes in the parenting department.” Mike pressed his lips together and looked past Julie’s shoulder as if a painful memory had crested in his mind.

“I know.  To an outsider, or someone who wasn’t her parent, it looked like she was goofing off.  But her father--my ex husband--thought she was special.  We never wanted her to have a part time job in high school.  We just wanted her to study and develop her talents and abilities.”

“Which were?”

“Just about anything she wanted to do.  She had artistic ability and played the violin.  She was a cross-country runner, had top SAT scores.”

“Sounds like an anorexic standing in front of a smorgasbord.  Too many choices, no appetite for anything.”

“She said she wanted to do something that made a difference, was thinking about going into law or medicine. She thought Jed wasn’t supportive; maybe that’s why she started running around with this Kevin person.  You said he had an unsavory reputation.  Why is that?”

“The usual stuff. Suspected of dealing drugs, fast talker, ladies man, big spender.”

Maggie stared at a spray of steam hissing from the radiator.  The hot air burned her throat; she felt faint.

Mike got up to adjust the knob.  “Damned steam heat,” he said.  “You look flushed.  Can I get you some water?”

“No, I’ll be fine when I get outside” Maggie pressed her arms across her waist and exhaled, trying to slow down her heartbeat.

Mike’s eyes went to the bare, monastic white wall behind his desk, where only a silver crucifix sparkled in the sunlight. “I’m going to do the best I can to find out about your daughter,” he said. “ But I can’t promise you anything but that--and my prayers.”

Maggie looked at the crucifix, wishing it would provide for her the solace that it seemed to for Mike.  “Why?  Why do these things happen?  You do the best you can for your children.”

“God works in strange ways.”

“And you can accept that?”

“What’s the choice?  Some things only He controls.” Mike paused and looked out the window.  A cloud parted in the late afternoon sky, brightening the room with the pinks and purples of the sunset.  Mike continued: “Unfortunately, our children aren’t clones.  We want them to be exactly like us, but there are these stray genes popping up from the other side of the family and from past generations, all of which tends to puzzle us and interfere with our plans for their behavior.  We have to remember our children don’t belong to us, but to God.  And they have to work out their own salvation.”

“Salvation.  It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that word.”

Mike’s eyes widened and sadness crept into his tone.  “You’ve left the Church?” 

Maggie felt the blood moving up her neck.  Why should he condemn her?  Had anyone ever expected him to stay committed to someone who beat him?  “Look,” she said. “You know divorced Catholics who remarry are ex-communicated.”

“I know.  But you could still go to Mass.”

“Yes, I could.  But I don’t.”  Maggie felt her face muscles tighten.  If he started Bible thumping, she was out of there.

Mike put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I’m not judging you.  But will you join me in a prayer for strength and guidance in finding what’s happened to Julie?”

Her defenses collapsed.  “Of course.”

Mike tented his hands and bowed his head.  “Hail Mary, full of grace,” he began.

The words tumbled out of her mouth as Maggie joined in the familiar prayer. 

Mike’s soothing monotone induced a trance-like feeling of peace. His mother had been right.  Mike should have been a priest.

* * *

Two days went by.  Maggie was beginning to think Jed was right.  She should have known that a small town private detective couldn’t find Julie.  She finished replenishing a tube feeding on a patient who’d been comatose for three weeks, feeling more depressed than usual by these palliative measures to prolong a useless life.  Her nerves were so tense that the phone ringing at the nurse’s station made her startle like a rabbit. She answered before the unit secretary had a chance.  “Transitional Care, Maggie Carrithers, RN speaking.”

Mike didn’t bother to identify himself. “I think I have something,” he said.

His words sent a shot of hope through her system.  “Good news?”

“Not exactly.  I haven’t found her, but I think I know where she was headed.”

At the end of the hall, a patient wailed plaintively, lost in the wide-awake dreams of her twilight existence.  Maggie put her hand over her left ear, straining to detect any positive or negative nuances in Mike’s voice. “So she’s safe?”

“I don’t know for sure one way or the other.  What time can you come and talk?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I get off work at 3:30.”  Maggie hung up the phone and stared at the medical record on the computer, trying to remember what it was she was supposed to document. It was lunch time and she was surrounded by personnel keying in information on patient charts.

Her supervisor, Terry, appeared beside her. “Your patient’s tube feeding was clogged,” she said. “You need to double check after you’ve finished hooking it up.”

Maggie felt a rush of guilt.  “I thought I did check, I don’t know what happened.”

Terry put her hand on Maggie’s shoulder.  She was young for her job, one of those assertive types with a short, no-nonsense haircut and serious gray eyes behind rimless glasses. “It’s all right,” she said.  “It’s not like you gave her the wrong meds or anything.  You seem nervous today, what’s wrong?”

Maggie chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to decide how much to tell.  She couldn’t reveal what was happening with Julie, but on the other hand, she might need some time off. “Family problems,” she said.

Terry’s brow furrowed. “You mean Julie?”

Tears stung Maggie’s eyes.  Why couldn’t Julie, with all her brains and ability, have been more like Terry?  A girl who set her mind on a sensible path early in life, accomplished her career goals, was safely married to a computer salesman, and the mother of two children.  Why had she turned out so well when Maggie’s own daughter was such a disappointment?  But all Maggie said was, “Julie’s been upset lately.”

“She didn’t flunk the med school test did she?”

Everyone knew Julie had never flunked a test in her life.  In the close knit world of this small unit, the nurses discussed their children in the quiet times when patients were sleeping.  But this was different; Maggie couldn’t share this latest episode with her co-workers. “It’s not that,” she said, “But Julie thinks we aren’t being supportive.”

Terry snorted. “Humph.  The trouble with that girl is you’ve spoiled her rotten.  If you ask me, you’ve been too darn supportive.  About time she uses those brains of hers to support herself.”

Maggie thought about the terse message on the envelope in Julie’s room.  “I think she’s about at that point,” she said.

“Great, so what’s the problem?”

“I just wish we had a better relationship.”

Terry looked over her shoulder, waiting until potential eavesdroppers drifted away. “Have you thought about counseling?”

“Julie went once, just to please me.  But she’s read so many psychology books, she knows exactly what’s behind every question the counselor asks and has decided it’s all a racket.”

“She may have a point,” Terry said, but I wasn’t talking about
her
getting help, I was thinking about you.”

Maggie gnawed on a thumbnail, tasting the alcohol pad she’d used when giving her last shot.  She’d spent her fair share of time with psychologists, but finally found a much more reliable way of dealing with stress.  “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m heading upstairs to the fitness center.  Okay if I combine lunch and breaks?”

“Get out of here.  Go.”  Terry gave Maggie a good-natured shove.

* * *

On the way upstairs, a heaviness pulled at Maggie’s body like the return of a dormant disease, reminding her of the time when her ex-husbands abuse had sapped her strength and made her feel like a failure.  But that had changed five years ago when she stepped on the treadmill, put one foot in front of the other and started walking.  She had crawled out of that black hole of despair and she would not go back again, even though the cot in the locker room looked tempting.