twenty-six

The front line salesman32 was waiting to greet the car, looking like a pet snake gazing at a baby mouse dangling above his cage. His enthusiasm gave way to surprise and then quickly disappointment as he opened the door for me.

“Aren’t you—”

“Mrs. Frugalicious,” I said. “And I’m sorry to have misled your representative in town and now you, but I need to talk to someone in your office ASAP and I had no other way of getting back here.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked, less than enthusiastically.

“Actually, I need to talk to Beti.”

“Beti, our receptionist?”

I nodded.

“Whatever,” he said, looking more than a little annoyed and motioning me to follow him to the timeshare office.

Our silent walk together was even more uncomfortable than my interchange with the OPC, who’d thought he’d chanced upon a sure-fire sale, only to have to pass me along to his frenemy, Raul. When we finally reached the office, the front line salesman opened the door just long enough for me to pass through.

“Must be on break,” he said.

I looked at the empty desk receptionist’s desk.

“And everyone else is in the middle of a sales conference, so …”

“I’ll wait.”

I’d assumed Beti’s break would likely last fifteen minutes—as in a standard, OSHA-mandated, American-style morning coffee break. Why it took me until well past the twenty-four-minute mark to remember I wasn’t even in my home country, I wasn’t sure, but it likely had something to do with the sales presentation by the master closer filtering into the lobby from the sales floor:

“A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, so every step in the timeshare sales presentation is equally and critically important. Yes, folks, everything—the meet and greet, the warm-up, touring the resort, the discovery, and closing the deal.

“There’s one even more important, more crucial, element if you want have any chance of making it in this business.

“Listen,” he said in a near whisper, and then shouted, “LISTEN!

“What I’m saying here is don’t just give an ear. You have to LISTEN to prospective owners. That means monitoring facial expressions and body language and then adjusting your conversation accordingly and constantly, from the very moment you shake hands until the ink is on the contract.

“Fail to listen and you won’t hear what they like, don’t like, would use, not use, and most importantly, what you know they need!”

I couldn’t help but think I hadn’t been listening from the moment I signed on for this whole Family Frugalicious TV odyssey.

“Despite what you may or may not have heard, you must not only listen, you must PRE-JUDGE as well in order to understand your prospects and adapt the presentation to fit the prospects’ wants, desires, vacation lifestyle, finances, and so on.”

I thought I could pretend to play happily married and no one would be anything but bargain wiser. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that I might just as easily be played too?

Before I could ponder that particular question, a door creaked open from the private hall on the other side of the sales floor. I looked up hoping to see Beti emerge from the kitchen/break area. Instead, Antonio appeared from inside a conference room with a familiar-looking older gentleman. I assumed he was an executive I’d met briefly or passed on one of the pathways over the last few days, until two men in suits emerged from behind him, took positions on either side of the man, and attempted to look nonchalant.

As if the reek of aftershave and steroids didn’t give them away as bodyguards.

“The pros can, like a winning sports team, modify their tactics at any time during the presentation in order to achieve maximum results and victory …”

My heart began to thump as Antonio and the man shook hands like they’d just completed a business deal.

Followed by an emotional hug.

Then I realized that I’d seen him at the funeral, seated beside Elena.

The mayor.

“One of the greatest mistakes I see is the salesperson who finally starts to listen but must make adjustments in the presentation during the close, Hail Mary–style.”

“Mr. Mayor?” I blurted as he started past me.

His goons closed in around him.

“I’m Maddie Michaels,” I said, before either of them decided they needed to strong-arm me into leaving him alone. “Mrs. Frugalicious.”

He stopped, dropped the haughty VIP veneer, and flashed the smooth polished smile of a consummate politician. “Mrs. Frugalicious—of course.” He smiled that much more broadly as he stepped over and offered me a kiss on each cheek. “I understand you and your crew are doing an excellent job of bringing peace and safety back to our community.”

“I hope so,” I said. “I was also hoping you might have a moment to talk to me about a few things.”

“I’d love to,” he said in accented but impeccable English. He looked at his watch. “But I’m afraid I’m already running late for another appointment.”

“I’ll only need a second.”

One of his goons gave me the back off or else eye.

“Please?”

“Very well,” he finally said, motioning his bodyguards outside and Antonio away.

“Thank you,” I said, as Antonio disappeared into the sales conference.

“Whatever I can do,” he said, somehow not entirely convincingly.

“Sir, it has come to my attention that you were in the midst of some negotiations with Alejandro and a third party,” I said as soon as we were alone. “An investor of some sort?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Police intelligence,” I said, to avoid any mention of Ivan.

“The deal was totally on the up and up,” he offered so quickly that I could only doubt that was true. “All by the book.”

“Was the third party an investor?”

“More of an interested party, I would say.”

“But foreign?”

“American born with Mexican citizenship,” he said. “So, as I said, completely legitimate.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “There’s been some speculation that Alejandro might have been killed to keep the deal from happening.”

“That simply doesn’t make sense,” he said definitively.

“Maybe his murder could be related to the investor?”

“I don’t see how,” the mayor said, glancing nervously out the window at his bodyguards.

“What about the connection with the TV show deal?”

“TV show deal?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

“Surely you’re aware of the reality show Alejandro was in the midst of pitching my producers?”

“He’d certainly been bragging about something along those lines,” he said with a nod. “And while there’s no denying the possible notoriety such a show would bring to the resort specifically, and our community in general, it had nothing to do with any negotiations in which I’ve been involved.”

“So the events were unconnected?”

“Completely,” he said. “Just as I’m completely sure the facts will prove to be different than whatever it is that may have been speculated regarding what did or didn’t happen.”

Now that was politician-speak if ever I heard it. “You’re sure about that?” I asked.

“Positive,” he said.

I was downright confused about where to go or what do to next as I left the timeshare office, headed down the path, and almost walked head-on into Beti, her nose in a Spanish romance novel.

“Just the person I thought I was looking for,” I said.

“I’m just getting off break,” she said. “But I’ll be back at my desk in five minutes to help you any way I can.”

“How about we talk now?” I asked.

Without waiting for her response, I led her over and into a nearby ladies’ room, where I was reasonably sure we wouldn’t be observed by any security cameras. As soon as I was certain we were alone I said, “Ivan told me he trusts you and that he spoke with you yesterday.”

She nodded.

“I just talked with the mayor.”

“In our office?”

“Yes,” I said. “And when I asked him about Alejandro and his plans for a reality show, he claimed he knew about it, but it had nothing to do with any negotiations he was conducting with the American investor.”

Beti considered. “Alejandro told me he just needed to jump through a few hoops and the Hacienda de la Fortuna empire was going to explode because he’d all but inked his own reality show about the resort and the world of timeshare sales.”

“That’s pretty much what Ivan told me,” I said. “But did Alejandro specifically say he’d been discussing the terms of the deal that day on the boat?”

“Not specifically,” she said. “But Alejandro did say you were key to making it happen.”

“Me?”

“He definitely mentioned you.”

“I wonder why? I don’t have any ability to get him a show beyond suggesting it might be an interesting idea.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But he said the producers told him his best chance of getting it green-lighted was to somehow convince you.”

“Convince me?” I heard myself repeat.

“He also said he planned to do whatever it took.”

As I stood there trying, unsuccessfully, to digest what had to be the unsavory truth of the whole Alejandro-romance subplot, Beti asked, “Is the mayor still there meeting with Antonio?”

“You already knew he was meeting with Antonio?”

“It makes sense that he would,” she said.

“Because he’s the new manager?”

“Because I’m sure the mayor is helping Elena to settle estate matters.”

“Why would he help Elena?”

“Well, he is her father.”

I felt like the wind had just been knocked out of me. “Did you just say the mayor is Elena’s father?”

“Most important marriage around here in years,” she said. “When Elena and Alejandro got married, there was a ceasefire in the decades-long feud between the two richest, most competitive families in the region.”

“But if Elena is the mayor’s daughter,” I said, doing the math, “then Benito is—”

“His son.”

Alejandro had been set up to seduce me in exchange for a TV show. The mayor knew about Alejandro’s plan for stardom, but claimed it had nothing to do with the “totally on the up and up” land deal they were transacting. In addition, the mayor was “completely sure the facts will prove to be different than whatever it is that may have been speculated regarding what did or didn’t happen,” where the murder of his son-in-law was concerned. The son-in-law he hadn’t thought to inform me was the husband of his grieving daughter.

Did that include the speculation about his own son, who everyone, including him, would have me believe killed Alejandro, almost killed Geo, and sent Ivan that threatening message to keep quiet?

My head felt like it was going to burst as I rushed back toward our suite. The feeling intensified when I rounded the corner and spotted a piece of peach-colored stationary dangling from a piece of tape on the door to our suite.

My hands trembled as I ripped the tape from the wood and read the block-letter message:

STICK WITH THE SCRIPT OR THE FAMILY FRUGALICIOUS WILL BE CANCELED FOREVER.

32. After being approached by an OPC, you will typically be greeted by a front line salesperson. He or she will treat you to breakfast or lunch, present the benefits and features of the property, answer questions, address all your concerns and reservations, and hopefully convince you to sign a contract, all within a couple hours.