Despite her claim, it was not as easy to set up a meeting with Alejandro Gil as Delgado suggested. She had tried to contact Gil before Moreno left, but she only got an answering service. She tried a couple more times Tuesday afternoon, with similar results. "I'll try again in the morning," she said.
Wednesday morning, MacFarland once again got up early, feeling restless that he couldn't do more to find Gil. He went swimming, hoping the exertion would calm his nerves. A little after ten in the morning, Calida Delgado came out of her room, wearing a silk robe. "Are you going to contact Gil this morning?" he asked.
"I doubt that he would be up. We Mexicans keep later hours than you Norteamericanos do. But I will call him."
"How did you meet him?" asked MacFarland.
She explained that she had met Gil at one of the parties she had thrown when she left the employment of the U.S. Central Command. It was not unusual for a man in his position to be invited to many social events. After all, he was quite wealthy and ostensibly had many dealings in legitimate businesses.
"You didn't know he was involved with the cartel?" asked MacFarland.
"No, not at first," said Delgado quite firmly. "Of course, there were rumors, but there are always rumors. Only a fool believes everything you hear."
MacFarland wasn't so sure that was true, since a lot of his success as a detective came from following up wildly unbelievable rumors. His philosophy was built more along the lines of "where there's smoke, there's fire." He didn't say anything, because he was preoccupied with watching Delgado as she walked towards the pool, items of dropped clothing marking her progress from living room to water's edge, until nothing remained but skin. She dived into the pool, then floated to the surface. "Are you coming in?" she asked.
MacFarland hesitated, unsure what he wanted to do. Finally he shook his head. "I swam earlier," he said in an uncertain tone.
"As you wish," said Delgado, as she began swimming back and forth the length of the pool. "I will try to call Gil again later this afternoon. Maybe he will be back from his business."
"Yeah, that sounds like a plan," said MacFarland, watching her lithe body glide through the water. "Uh, do you mind if I take your car out and explore the city a bit?"
Delgado paused in the middle of the pool. "Not at all, but don't you want some company? I would love to show you my sleepy little town."
MacFarland nodded, then found himself staring at her as she climbed out of the water. Drops raced down the soft curves of her body as she stood up. "Hand me that towel," she said. He picked up one of the towels and tossed it in her direction. She caught it, then slowly patted herself dry. "Give me a couple of minutes, Mac dear, and I will be ready."
She wrapped the towel around her body and hurried into the house. Rosalinda came out of the house and picked up Delgado's discarded clothing. She didn't look at MacFarland once during that time.
Cuernavaca was anything but a sleepy little town. The traffic was horrendous. "It's worse on the weekends," admitted Delgado. "Everyone from Mexico comes down to escape the heat."
"I thought we were in Mexico," he said, confused.
Delgado laughed. "I am sorry, old habit. Mexico City is the Federal District of Mexico, so most of us call that Mexico. Everyone else lives in one of the states of the United States of Mexico—Estados Unidos de México."
"Confusing," grumbled MacFarland.
"You get used to it."
Delgado drove to the town plaza, the zócalo, pointing out to him the Palacio de Cortes, the post office, and other government buildings. They drove around to several churches and cathedrals, though MacFarland did not share Calida's enthusiasm for churches. He was surprised that Delgado took her religious heritage so seriously. Finally she drove to street on the outskirts of the town and parked outside of a hacienda.
"We will have lunch here," she announced. It was well after two o'clock, and MacFarland had to admit that he was hungry. As Delgado parked the car, MacFarland noticed a silver SUV parking a short ways down the street.
He pointed out the SUV to Delgado. "Do you recognize that vehicle? It's been following us most of the morning."
Delgado glanced casually over her shoulder, then shook her head. "No, I don't know that one, but there are a lot of SUVs in Cuernavaca. It could be anybody."
"Maybe," he said. "My gut tells me something else."
MacFarland gave it one last look, then followed Delgado in through the entrance to the hacienda.
He didn't think much more about the vehicle once they got inside the walls of the hacienda. What looked drab on the outside turned out to be, in typical Mexican fashion, a paradise on the inside. Flowers, plants, and birds abounded in the outdoors open courtyard. Tables dotted the covered verandahs that surrounded the courtyard. The waitresses wore the traditional costume from the Tabasco region of Mexico, a fact that Delgado felt compelled to tell MacFarland.
"The clothes all look Mexican to me," he said.
"Typical ignorant tourist," muttered Delgado.
The meal she ordered, however, was far from typical. It was one of the best meals MacFarland had ever eaten. After the late lunch, as Delgado drank a Margarita and MacFarland sipped on a Diet Coke, he observed as much to Calida. She smiled. "That is real Mexican food. Not your usual tacos and burritos."
MacFarland took another drink, eyeing Delgado's Margarita enviously, when he noticed a man across the courtyard, staring at them. At first he didn't think much of the incident. When you are with a woman as attractive as Calida Delgado, you have to expect men to stare at her. Then he noticed that the man was actually staring at him, not Delgado. The man looked strangely familiar. Then he remembered Pierson's description of the man she thought was following her.
This man looked a lot like the man she described.
What was he doing in Mexico?
He pointed the man out to Delgado. "Do you know that man?" he asked.
She feigned laughing and looked around her. No one could tell that her eyes lingered on him any longer than on anyone else in the restaurant. "No, he doesn't look familiar. But Cuernavaca has almost four hundred thousand people. I hardly know everyone, no matter what you think."
MacFarland laughed. "Some sleepy little town," he said.