The foyer was awash in roses, as were the kitchen and dining room. There were roses of every hue—pink, coral, yellow, red, white—tender rosebuds, full-blown blooms. “Whoa!” Andrea exclaimed as she rounded the corner into her living room. “It looks like a greenhouse in here.
“Mom,” Madison cried, “did you see what’s in the front hall?”
“Good Lord,” Andrea breathed. “What next?” She raised her eyebrows but couldn’t keep the goofy smile from her face. “Seems I have an extravagant suitor.”
“There’s a note.” Madison waved an envelope in front of her. “Here it is. Read it, Mom.”
“Okay. Let me see it.”
Madison handed her the envelope and plopped down on the sofa. “Come on, Mom,” she entreated. “Sit down and read it.”
Andrea took a seat beside Madison, dragged a palm over her face, and then took the envelope from her daughter.
“What does it say?” Madison demanded.
“Um,” Andrea broke the envelope’s seal and then withdrew the enclosure. “Hello, to my two favorite females in the universe,” Andrea read.
Madison giggled. “That’s funny, Mom.”
“Yeah, I guess he likes us,”
“I think so.” Madison curled her legs up beneath her and sighed contentedly. “That’s nice.”
“It is.”
“What else does he say?”
“Let me see.” Andrea read the missive and then translated. “He says he wants to see us tomorrow.”
“Cool. Can we do that, Mom?”
Andrea pursed her lips. Perhaps it would be best to simply put the kibosh on this budding relationship. She couldn’t afford to be hurt again, couldn’t bear the thought of opening herself up to someone who might disappoint or betray her. And yet…” He’d left her a boatload of flowers. He’d written that he wanted to see her—to see Madison—again.
Maybe you should just trust the guy?
Garrett slumped down on his worn futon, thinking about the events of the last couple of weeks—the girl that had turned his life upside down in an instant and was still none the wiser. Sure, he’d wanted a bit of adventure, but this was more drama than he’d bargained for. Garrett felt as though he’d been transported to the action scene of one of his games. It was good versus evil, just up his alley except for the fact that—suddenly—it was all too real. And then it struck him: This is no game, and he was gobsmacked back to reality pretty damned quick.
What did you get yourself into? His ego goaded him.
“I don’t know,” Garrett muttered. “All I know is that I’m in too deep to bail.”
He leaped off the futon and made a beeline to his computer screen. “So, what have we got, huh?” he breathed, as he seated himself before the monitor. Garrett keyed in the license plate number JNX 7_ _and waited for his screen to deliver. It wasn’t much, he realized, but it was a start. And a heck of a lot better than aimlessly fuming, waiting around to see what, if anything, developed.
“Hey, Buzz.” Floyd leaned against one of many large stone columns comprising an eighteenth-century arch-topped colonnade, now swathed in shadows. “It’s me, F… Frank. You know, Daniel’s friend?” He glanced about furtively, but at this hour, even the late-night bars had closed, and the workaday citizenry had not yet awakened. Except for the cooing and fluttering of mourning doves on the rooftop, there were no signs of life.
“Sorry if I woke you. It’s just that I’ve finished my business here, and I want to take a little side trip before heading back to the states. You interested?” Floyd ducked behind a column when a big, black sedan rounded the corner. He kept his eyes trained on the car, not moving from the relative safety of his hiding place in the recesses of the portico until it was lost from view. “Good, good,” he said, keeping his voice low. “The sooner the better.” Floyd gathered up his duffle bag and hiked in the opposite direction the car had taken.
“Where am I headed?” He glanced down at the tiny map currently displayed on his cellphone’s screen. “Acandi,” he said. “Ever heard of it?”
Three hours later, he was comfortably seated in the Cessna when Buzz’s voice boomed over the speaker system. “Great view on your left,” and Floyd sprang to his feet. He dove across the aisle and took a seat on the other side of the plane. Peering out the window, he gazed down at the swath of green jungle below. It was rimmed with a strip of sandy beach and surrounded by a sea in the most brilliant shade of turquoise he’d ever set eyes upon.
Floyd scrambled down the jet stairs, bags in tow, and Buzz was close on his heels. On the tarmac, they turned to one another, and Floyd extended an arm. “Thanks, buddy.” He shook the pilot’s hand.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Buzz smirked.
“Yeah, well, you never know,” Floyd said.
“You’ll want to head in that direction.” Buzz pointed. “You can hire transport that’ll take you to the boat to Capurganá. It’s a bit of a hike, and you look like you could take a load off.
“I’m afraid I’m under the weather.” Floyd mopped his brow. This heat…”
“You don’t have to explain, pal,” Buzz said. “It takes some getting used to. Good luck.”
Floyd sat astride a study, gray mule. The docile beast plodded, head lowered, over the uneven terrain toward the docks with no urging—as though he’d made this trek a thousand times. And, perhaps, he had. The mule’s handler, who trotted alongside, had no idea he was toting a duffle bag containing a fortune.
Floyd tried to see the humor in the situation—he was on an ass, feeling like a horse’s ass—fleeing the law. But he couldn’t. He eyeballed the bag that contained all his worldly treasure, knowing full well he should be more nervous about that. Suddenly, Floyd realized he didn’t give a damn about the money. His sweat-slicked clothing clung to him like plastic wrap, and he was bone-weary and famished. At this low point in his existence, all he required was a hot shower, a warm meal, and a comfortable bed to fall into. Then tomorrow could take care of itself.
Please join us for a final soiree.
321 Greenway Drive
Saturday, April 19th
Time: 4 – 9 p.m.
Dress: Retro Fifties to Contemporary Casual
Come prepared to find treasure,
winnow out trash, and celebrate with us as our family bids good-bye to Casa Rio
and embarks on the next adventure.
Cocktails and Dinner Buffet
RSVP: Andrea Nelson 231-4559
Despite the heat of the muggy afternoon, the double doors to Casa Rio had been flung open wide. A line had formed outside, the would-be entrants laughing and chatting with friends and neighbors while waiting for admittance. The air conditioning was blasting away, keeping the interior cool and dry, and Margaret, clothed in a vintage gown of emerald-green satin, stood poised at the doorway looking regal and self-possessed.
“My word, George,” she said, eyeing the distinguished, white-haired fellow standing before her. “You look positively smashing in uniform.”
“Thank you, my dear,” the elderly gentleman said. “Air Force, the Vietnam War.”
He lifted the hem of his jacket to reveal a leather belt tightly cinched over a small potbelly. “I have to admit, it was a bit touch-and-go getting the trousers zipped.”
“Well, I hope you’ve room for dinner. Derrick’s working his magic; he’s preparing quite a spread.”
“First, however,” Andrea swooped in and took the man’s arm, “there’s work to be done.” She gestured toward the living room. “Go find Madison, Colonel Morris. She’ll have an assignment for you.”
“Delighted to do my part, ladies.” George nodded stiffly and headed toward the great room.
Andrea turned back to the doorway where a fit young couple, their feet clad in bobby socks and white saddle shoes, were deep in conversation with her mother. “Hello, Nathan.” Andrea smiled broadly at the tall handsome fellow, before directing her attention to his partner. “And this must be—”
“Andrea, allow me to introduce my wife. Elissa.” Nathan turned to the willowy blonde clad in a red poodle skirt, who stood at his side.
“How do you do, Elissa?” Andrea said. “And welcome. I adore your skirt.”
“Thanks. I found it in a consignment shop. Can you believe it?”
“It’s classic. Now. if you’ll just make your way through there.” Andrea gestured toward the great room. “My daughter, Maddy, will get you started on your treasure hunt.”
“This is so exciting!” Elissa said, linking arms with her husband.
“I hope we unearth something of value,” Nathan added.
“You would be the one for that.”
Nathan gazed down at his delicate bride. “I do have an eye.” He took Elissa’s elbow and steered her toward the living room.
“Here you are.” Madison handed the Colonel three plastic shopping bags. “See that chest over there?”
The former Air Force pilot nodded. “Certainly.”
“Go through all the doors and drawers. Put anything you think good into one bag. That’s the stuff she’ll auction. Put the junk in the other. Got it?”
“What about the third?”
“That’s for personal stuff. Things that Nana will want to keep.”
“I’m on it, Maddy.”
“Chef.” A young woman, wearing a white apron over black tuxedo pants, her dark blonde tresses pulled up in a clip, indicated a large container by the sink. "How do I wash the truffles?”
“No, no, no,” Derrick cried. “Do nothing to them. They’re perfect just as they are—two grand worth of exquisite. No one touches the truffles but me.”
“Got it. And about the sea scallops?”
“We’ll cook up those beauties at the very last second. You can blot them with paper towels until they’re very dry. Later, we’ll flash sauté them on high heat in equal parts butter and grapeseed oil.” Derrick’s eyes darted about Margaret’s kitchen. His former mother-in-law’s normally spare countertops were now laden with a variety of fresh produce—frilly red and green lettuces, purple and orange carrots, fingerling potatoes, onions, fennel, and an assortment of herbs. “Ahh,” he breathed, a smile of contentment on his face. “It’s showtime.”
Margaret was in her glory. The house was alive with people she loved, and she was determined to enjoy every moment. Gracefully, she glided from room to room, stopping to offer directions or answer questions. She found Sally perched on a vanity stool in the dressing room. “You’ve discovered those old tortoiseshell combs,” she exclaimed, bending over the real estate broker to better examine them. “Beautiful, aren’t they? Not plastic like the ones we see today. Mother wore them in her hair.”
“Then you’ll want to hang on to them,” Sally said.
“Yes.”
“But what about the rest of this stuff?” Sally indicated the items she’d piled atop the vanity—hairpins, electric razors, boxes of talcum powder, shower caps, worn bath linens, a boar bristle brush that had seen better days.
Margaret’s eyes roved over the assortment. “Toss all of it,” she finally said. “Unless you think there’s something of value here. I leave it to your discretion, Sally.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sally turned back to the vanity cabinet and opened a lower drawer.
Margaret wandered into a guest bedroom where two men—one very tall fellow and a slightly built younger chap—were examining a mahogany lady’s desk. The pair were nattily attired in upscale fifty’s garb, baggy pleated trousers, crisp linen shirts with narrow collars. They’d turned the desk on its end and had their heads together.
“Scottly, what’re you up to?” Margaret asked.”
The large man glanced in her direction. “Take a look at this, Margaret.” He pointed to the carved detail on the apron’s front, five thunderbolts tied with a bow knot. “You see that? It’s a Duncan Phyfe signature. You’ve got an original here. I’m sure of it.”
“I’ve always loved this desk,” Margaret crossed to them, “but now you’re telling me—”
“It’s in excellent condition.” The younger man’s high voice belied his enthusiasm.
“Margaret, you remember Kory, don’t you?” Scottly asked.
“Of course.” Margaret patted the dandy’s shoulder. “So glad you could make it, Kory. I was hoping you two design experts would ferret out the gems.”
“You flatter us,” Scottly said, carefully setting the desk back on its feet. “But I’m quite sure this is one of those jewels.” He beamed at Margaret. “You’ll either want to keep this piece and pass it on to your children or sell it at a premium.”
“Whoo-hoo!” a male voice hollered, grabbing their attention. “I think I’ve struck pay dirt!”
In the next moment, Margaret, Scottly, and Kory were charging toward the great room. On their way, they nearly collided with Sally and Andrea, who were stampeding in from the opposite direction. “What’s happening?” Sally asked, her eyes wide.
“Haven’t a clue,” Scottly said.
“Yippee-ki-yay! Oh, happy day.”
“Good heavens,” Margaret exclaimed. “Who is that? My heart can hardly take the excitement.”
Scottly clasped Margaret’s hand and hauled her into the great room. There, they found Jason Landeau, the new president of Northern Trust Bank, waving an envelope over his head.
“Jason, what is it?” Andrea asked. “Why the hullabaloo?”
“I think we’ve found the prize, Andy!”
“Why? What have you unearthed?” Margaret asked.
Jason rose to his full height, relishing the moment. With great fanfare, he opened the envelope and withdrew a sheaf of certificates. “Does anyone know what these are?” he asked.
“No!” Scottly exclaimed.
“Tell us,” Nathan cried.
“Where did you find them?” Andrea asked.
“In the lower shelf of the bookcase. Don’t ask me why, but I felt compelled to rifle through the pages of this volume, The Complete Works of Shakespeare, and this fell out. Right onto my lap, I might add. It was like someone from the dead was speaking to me.”
“Ooo,” Sally said in a quavering voice. “Spooky.”
“That is strange.” Suddenly, Margaret looked apprehensive.
“Yes,” Jason said. “I planted a bookmark between the pages from where it fell, The Tempest, Act 3 Scene 2.
“So,” Andrea said, “what’s the significance?” She glanced about the room, a skeptical look on her face. “If there is any.”
Jason placed the envelope on a side table and opened the heavy tome. “Aha! Here it is.”
An expectant hush fell over the room as all eyes fastened on the banker. Jason inhaled and then struck a pose. “He that dies pays all debts,” he recited in his most theatrical voice.
“Come on, Jason, cut the Shakespeare!” the Colonel cried. “What’s this nonsense?”
“North European Oil Corporation stocks.” Jason grinned.
“What of it?” Sally asked. “Those old stock certificates are worthless.”
“I don’t believe that’s true in this case,” Jason said. “I’ve heard tell that John Sheridan was a savvy investor, and I’ve read that these particular certificates—NEO purchased in the thirties—could be worth more than two hundred times their original value. Let’s do the math.” Jason fanned the certificates while calculating. “If I’m right, I believe we’re talking in the neighborhood of…” He paused for effect, “three-million dollars!”
There was an audible sigh and then an uptick of breath from all those present. In the next moment, everyone was laughing and clapping one another on the back as though they’d accomplished a great feat.
“Now you won’t have to sell,” Nathan exclaimed, staring pointedly at Margaret.
Andrea shot him a warning look, and he quickly changed his tack. “But what do I know?”
“Madams and messieurs,” Derrick bellowed as he emerged from the kitchen, a white apron tied around his lanky frame, “dinner is served. Please return your bags to Madison in the front hall and then make your way to the patio. There, you shall be wined and dined in exchange for your labors.”
The entire company erupted in happy sighs and murmurings. They collected their findings and then surged toward the front hall to do Derrick’s bidding, eager for dinner and drinks.
Margaret kicked off her heels. “Oh, my Lord, my feet are killing me,” she exclaimed, massaging her toes.
“It was worth it. You looked stunning, Mom.” Andrea collapsed into a lounge chair opposite her mother. “And the party was a great success.”
“Thanks to my granddaughter’s brilliant idea!” Margaret beamed at Madison.
“I’m beat.” Madison perched on the edge of an ottoman at Margaret’s feet and yawned widely. “But I think we did good.”
Andrea gazed about the great room. “Jeez,” she said. “The place is a mess, huh?”
“It’s okay.” Margaret’s eyes darted over the large, untidy space where drawers gaped open, and books were stacked helter-skelter. “Had to happen sooner or later, and we’ve taken a good stab at what seemed an enormous task. I, for one, am encouraged.”
Derrick hiked in from the back patio, toting a plastic bin piled high with silver chafing dishes and stainless-steel buffet servers. “How about another glass of champagne, ladies?”
“Only if you’ll join us,” Margaret said. “You’ve worked so hard. How can I ever thank you enough?”
Andrea snorted loudly, an aggrieved expression on her face, and Margaret pretended not to notice.
Derrick winked at his former mother-in-law. “Don’t worry. You’ll get my bill.”
“I’ll have some, Daddy,” Madison said.
“Cut hers with orange juice, Derrick.” Andrea smiled indulgently at the teen.
When Derrick had disappeared into the kitchen, Margaret leaned into her daughter. “So, about those railroad certificates…”
Andrea nodded. “That was a surprise, alright.”
“Do you think they’re worth anything?”
“Who knows? I did a quick google search, and most of those old stocks have no value whatsoever.”
“But not all,” Margaret pressed.
“No. Some, as Harry said, are worth plenty. We’ll just have to wait and see what Nathan determines. He’s the financial guru. He’ll get the real lowdown. Until then…”
“We don’t count our chickens—” Margaret said.
“Until they’re hatched.” Madison finished her grandmother’s sentence, looking pleased with herself.
Floyd was dog-tired, but the donkey driver took his job very seriously. “Hey, mon,” he said, jiggling the slumped attorney’s shoulder when he started to doze off. “Nearly thar.”
“Umph!” Floyd grumbled. “So hungry.”
“Not to worry. Bes’ food on di island, coomin riight up! Stay awake, mon. Doon wan to miss iit.”
“I could eat a horse.”
The donkey balked and craned its neck, giving Floyd a hard look before braying in protest.
“Just kidding.”
Josefina’s was nothing more than a ramshackle, hole-in-the-wall joint hugging the coast. But the laughter and enticing aromas wafting to the weary traveler were enough to hearten him, and his flagging spirits revived. No matter that he hadn’t secured lodgings. There’d be time for that. Never had he had a more harrowing day. Floyd had been at his rope’s end. Now he was ready to be fed and embraced.
“Hallo, straan-jaar!” The voice that welcomed him was warm and mellow, drawing out vowels in ways he’d never imagined possible.
“Hello, yourself,” Floyd sniveled, peevishly, as he perused the menu. He was famished and dead on his feet.
“Whhaat kaan I get choo, sweethaart?”
Floyd looked up only to encompass a female with impossibly high cheekbones and a ready smile, and it was as though a volcano erupted in his consciousness. He’d awakened. She was as lush and ripe as the island itself, and her lively eyes seemed to bore into his soul.
All that had been dead in Floyd seemed to come alive again. He felt a long-forgotten yearning, and his pants were suddenly too small to accommodate what had been dormant so long. It was all so confusing yet exciting at the same time. “What are the specials?” he rasped, and the waitress answered with a throaty laugh.
Had he said something funny?
“I wood recoomand the shreemp cer-vaychee. But whaat ehvah you waant, ees spee-cial!” She raised an eyebrow and blew a kiss in his direction. “Diahhna, dat’s me,” she said, “I bring you whaat ehvah you need.”
Floyd pushed his plate away and belched softly. The Cazuela de Camerones—fresh prawns simmered with vegetables in a hearty broth—had more than met his expectations.
“You laik?” Diana asked, scooping up his empty plate.
“Delicious. I’ll have another Presidente,” Floyd indicated the empty green bottle.
“Coomin raaht up. Dahsurt?”
“No, no! Just a refill, and then I’ll be on my way.”
The waitress turned as if to go, but Floyd’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Tell me, can you recommend a place to stay?” he asked. “Long term.”
Diana set the plate back down on the table and slowly folded herself into the chair opposite his. “Nah thaat I caan,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her jutting breasts. “My seestah has a plaace cloose into tawn. Klan. Reahl naace. Shaal I raang hah?”
“Yeah. And can you get me a bottle of this most agreeable elixir to go?”
Benita beamed at Floyd, and for a moment, he thought she might have been Diana’s twin. Except for the fact that she was ten years older and thirty pounds heavier, she could have been. She possessed the same warm manner and sweet disposition. “You see, thaa’s a view. Raaht here tru dis window.”
Dutifully, Floyd bent and peered out the tiny bathroom portal. “Ah,” he said, taking in the bird’s eye view of the wharf. “Very nice.” He straightened and pushed past her, eager to escape the cramped space. “You mentioned a terrace?”
“Yaas! Dis way,” Benita said. “You calm tru heah.” She led the way through the cramped living room into a small passageway. “Up tha-ah.” Benita nodded toward a narrow stairway, indicating that he should climb up. “Ah’m afrad of haats. You go. Ah stah heya.” Floyd arched a brow but said nothing. He doubted Benita was afraid of heights. He figured she was reluctant to squeeze her corpulent frame up the narrow corridor.
When he reached the tiny landing, Floyd pushed open the door and stepped out onto the terrace. “Oh, my God,” he gasped, gazing about in wonderment. The rooftop enclosure was plebian, no more than twenty feet by twenty with a stick-built railing on three sides to prevent one from tumbling over the edge, but the view of the harbor it afforded was magnificent. “This will do,” he murmured.
Back in the kitchen, the two of them faced off. “Fahve-huundrad COP a moont, plaws eggstra foh laundry suhvace,” Benita said.
“Seems a bit steep.”
“Dat’s ma finaal oofah.” Benita pretended to glare at him, but she only managed to look like a pleasant-faced matron doing a bad job of acting.
“You drive a hard bargain.” Floyd struggled to keep his expression impassive.
“Humph.” Benita narrowed her eyes, a smug smile creeping over her face.
“I’ll take it.” Floyd made a show of slowly selecting bills from his wallet and presenting them to Benita. “There are three hundred and fourteen U.S. dollars for two month’s rent,” he said, “and an additional eighty-something to cover my laundry and God knows what else.”
“Wahlcomb to da naybooh-hood,” Benita said, palming the cash.
“Thank you. And where, pray tell, can I buy some decent furniture for this place?”