| |
It turns out, the only thing open at three in the afternoon, besides room service, was the snack bar at the pool. The other restaurants didn’t reopen until four-thirty. The good news, our quesadillas and French fries were ready quickly. Rodrigo ordered a beer. I, needing something a little more substantial, ordered a mojito.
“Why didn’t you want Marcellus to know about your Silverthorne pals? I assume that’s who you are planning to get in touch with. Don’t you trust him?” He took a pull on his cervesa.
I stared off into the distance. “I trust Marcellus. I don’t know why I didn’t want you to bring them up. Maybe it’s my own history, but I kind of feel like things need to stay . . . compartmentalized.”
Rodrigo paused with the bottle halfway to his lips and burst out laughing. “Geez, are you sure you don’t work for the CIA?”
“Rodrigo!” I hissed.
He shook his head, still smiling, and sipped.
“There you are! I’ve been searching all over this place for you!”
I almost choked on the bite of quesadilla in my mouth. Rodrigo spat out his beer, spraying the bedraggled blond from the ruins who had chased us out of the parking lot.
The blond grabbed a napkin off our table and wiped his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Who the hell are you? And how the hell did you find us?” I snapped, pushing my feet closer together to tighten their hold on the backpack, with its Egyptian treasure, between my legs.
He pushed his stringy bangs off his face, glanced around, and pulled up a chair from a neighboring table. “I’m Aunt Milly’s grandnephew, Craig. I tried to get to Chichén Itzá to meet you, but Adolfo got there first.”
I sat back and crossed my arms, giving “Craig” a disbelieving glare. “Okay, ‘Craig.’” I made finger quotes. “What is the name of Mrs. Thundermuffin’s dog?”
“She doesn’t have a dog. You mean her black cat? It’s Mr. Tibbs. She named him after Sidney Poitier’s character from The Heat of the Night, one of her favorite actors. You know she once met him at the Kennedy Center,” he mused, flagging down a waiter. “Una cerveza, por favor.”
I scrutinized this character, hating to admit there was a slight family resemblance to Mrs. T. Something around the eyes and nose that seemed similar, and I did recall a photo of a blond, high-school-aged student on her mantel that might be this guy. His sweat-stained polo and pants were wrinkled and dirty, he’d moved a few days past a five o’clock shadow, and there was the faintest yellowing of a healing bruise around his left eye, but he could be the guy on the mantel.
I tested him again. “Where does your aunt live?”
He rattled off the building address and apartment number.
“Um-hm. And how are you related?”
“She is my grandmother’s sister. What is all this? We need to stop fooling around with the twenty questions. Aunt Milly is in trouble,” he said, exasperated.
Rodrigo bent closer to Craig and delivered, in a rather menacing manner, “The twenty questions are because your friend Adolfo told us he was Craig, just before he attacked Karina.”
“Adolfo? Attacked you?” Craig let out a shout of laughter. “That effeminate twit. I don’t imagine he was successful. No? You saw through him? Thank God you’re as smart as my aunt said you were. All the same, it’s a good thing it wasn’t one of his brothers.”
“Brothers? There are more of them?” Rodrigo squinted.
“Yes, a pair. They are rather hefty fellows. Probably playing guard over Aunt Milly. Oh, great, thanks.” The last he said to the waitress as she passed him the beer. Then he said something in Spanish that made her blush and giggle. Rodrigo’s frown deepened. Craig gulped down half of the bottle before taking a breath.
“You mind explaining that comment about your aunt?” I drawled.
“Yes, but not here.” He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced around furtively. “Finish up and we’ll go someplace quieter, where we can talk.”
I crossed my arms and leaned them on the table. “Look, pal, I don’t know you, and I have no plans to go anywhere outside of the public eye until you convince me you are who you say you are.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake—here!” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. “This is my ID, and here is a picture of me and Grandma and Aunt Milly at my college graduation.”
Taking one in each hand, I scrutinized the New York driver’s license first. It had one of those ghastly, pale-faced, blank stare photos that the DMV was so skilled at taking. The ID put Craig Mettler at the tender age of twenty-six. The other photo was indeed Mrs. T., back when she was still coloring her hair an ashy blond. The other woman was slightly taller, a little heavier, with mostly gray hair, wearing a frumpy black flowered dress. Between the two ladies stood a smiling Craig in a black cap and gown. I held up the photo, comparing the bedraggled man in front of me to the clean-cut graduate. They were one and the same.
“May I?” He snatched a fry off my plate before I could answer and chowed down. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.” He took another fry.
Rodrigo scrunched his face and glared at Craig as if he were a distasteful cockroach.
A quarter of quesadilla and a pile of fries remained on my plate. I tossed the ID and photo down and shoved the plate at Craig. “Help yourself.”
Rodrigo, on the other hand, pulled his plate further away from Craig’s grabby fingers. “You better start talking, pal. And it better be the truth because, right now, I don’t like what I’m hearing.”
In between bites, Craig began his explanation in undertones. “You see, there are people who . . . need things. I help them with their needs.”
“What kind of things?” Rodrigo asked.
“All sorts of things.”
“Let me guess, you’re in the import export business,” I said, repeating a euphemism another thief once used on me.
Craig pointed a fry at me. “Exactly, a perfect way to explain it.”
“What do you import export?” Rodrigo, still clueless, pursued his line of questioning.
“He’s a thief.” I sipped my mojito. “Or is it a fence?”
Craig’s face fell for a moment before the smile slipped back in place and he turned on the charm. “Such a crude term. No, no, I’m more of a—”
“I don’t care what it is. We know the mask is a fake,” I stated baldly. “Were you trying to sell it, they caught on to you, and you dragged your poor aunt into this business? Hmm? Did it go something like that?”
Craig stopped mid-chew and needed to take a drink from his beer to get the bite down. “You don’t understand,” he said, trying again.
I could tell Craig was used to charming his way out of tricky spots. I’d worked too long on the Hill to be fooled by charisma and doubletalk. “Cut the crap. I understand very well. What I don’t know—where is your aunt?”
The façade fell, and his face turned to misery as he gazed at the remaining two fries on the plate. “They have her.”
I sucked wind.
Rodrigo’s beer slammed down onto the table.
Craig glanced up with pleading eyes and whispered, “I need the mask to get her back.”
Rodrigo gripped Craig’s elbow, rather tightly from what I could tell, and rose, bringing Craig to his feet. “You’re right, it’s time we found some place more private.”
We ended up in Rodrigo’s room, in part because I didn’t want Craig to find out which room I was in, and also because I didn’t want him stinking up my lovely suite. I wasn’t sure when the man had taken a shower last, but once we got in the elevator, the smell, no longer being blown off by the beachfront breezes, thickened and filled the space. If B.O. was a color, the elevator would have been filled with a green fog.
“Boy! You reek.” Rodrigo did not mince words as he shut the door to his room behind us.
“I know,” Craig replied miserably. “I’ve been in these clothes for days.”
“Well, I can’t concentrate through the haze of stench. Take a shower, and then we’ll talk.” He pulled out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from his open suitcase and practically shoved Craig into the bathroom. “Don’t come out until you’re clean!” Rodrigo yelled at the closed bathroom door. Then he strode across the room and threw open the slider onto his balcony.
I waited until the shower started before joining Rodrigo.
He didn’t look happy. “Want to tell me why we didn’t go up to your fancy suite?”
“I don’t trust him. Period.”
Rodrigo stared morosely at the empty fairway below. “You don’t think he’s the grandnephew?”
“Oh, I believe he’s the grandnephew. But he’s either a thief or a fence or a forger, and I don’t trust him to make the exchange for his aunt if he sees some sort of con can be made. I also believe that my room, being on the concierge level, is more secure than yours. And I plan to keep the mask with me, in my room.”
Rodrigo rubbed his chin. “You could put it in the hotel safe.”
“I already looked into that. You have to declare whatever valuables you’re putting into their safe. It’s for their insurance purposes. The fewer people who know we have this thing, the better.” I indicated the backpack now safely strapped onto my shoulders.
“So what are we going to do?”
“First, I want to find out what he knows, and where they are holding Mrs. T. Second, if there is some sort of exchange to be made, I want to make sure we are there to make it.”
Rodrigo nodded. “Agreed.”
I heard the shower turn off and suggested we move inside. We took our seats in the two wingback chairs, and I tucked the backpack in the corner behind mine just as Craig opened the bathroom door. The black shorts were tight, but Craig had been able to zip them up. He pulled at the hem of the white T-shirt, glancing down at the rainbow and letters “UBU” across his chest. He hadn’t shaved, but his hair was combed back, and he looked rather handsome in a swashbuckling pirate manner. He carried his dirty clothes in a ball.
“What should I do with these?” he asked.
Rodrigo rolled his eyes and sighed. “There’s a plastic bag hanging in the closet. Put them in there, and for the love of Pete, tie it closed.”
“Thanks for the clothes. I owe you one.” He dumped the dirty laundry in the bag and pulled it tight.
“Alright, enough chit-chat. Craig, have a seat.” With one foot, Rodrigo shoved the wheeled desk chair at him.
“And tell us about the mask,” I added.
Craig crossed his arms and frowned as he rolled closer to Rodrigo and me. “Speaking of the mask,” he drawled, “I believe you were told not to look in the box. I’m not happy that you’ve been blabbing about it all around town.”
My feet, resting on the coffee table, slammed to the floor, and I jammed my pointer finger at him. “Listen up, you little crap weasel, your aunt asked me to carry an object into a foreign country. Of course I’m going to look in the damn box. And you can eliminate your self-righteous indignity. I want answers, and if you want the mask, you’ll give them to me. You got that?”
Craig, duly chastised, gave a sharp nod.
“Now, the mask is a fake. Am I right?” I asked, because I hadn’t put it out of the realm of possibility that Martin had been mistaken.
Craig nodded. “Yes, it’s fake.”
“Does Adolfo and his pals know it’s a fake?”
“Of course. Adolfo made it.”
“Adolfo made it?” Rodrigo got into the inquisition. “What do you mean he made it? Is he part of your scheme? Is he trying to double cross you? Or did you double cross him?”
Craig crunched his eyes shut for a few moments. “Adolfo is an artist.” He said the word “artist” with a note of disdain.
“Is he famous? Should we know him?” I asked.
“No, he cleans and restores paintings and artifacts for a living. Occasionally, art enthusiasts hire him to make copies of well-known masterpieces so they can hang them in their homes. He is excellent at reproductions.”
“Does he create his own art?” Rodrigo asked.
Craig nodded. “Of course, Adolfo fancies himself an abstract impressionist.”
Rodrigo didn’t look impressed. “Has he had showings of his own work?”
“Yes. Twice. Both splendid failures.”
“I see.” I tapped a finger to my chin. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”
“So you understand.” Craig’s mouth pinched.
“Why did he make the mask?”
Craig shifted uncomfortably.
“Craig . . . why did he make the mask?”
“Because I asked him to,” he mumbled.
“Care to elaborate?”
“I had a buyer for the real one.”
I waited to see if Craig would say more. He didn’t, so I prompted, “Did Adolfo know you planned to steal the real one?”
“He did.”
“And . . . ?”
“Adolfo created the mask on credit.”
“On credit. You mean, he was to be paid—when? After you stole the one from the Brazilian museum and sold it to your dirty collector?” Rodrigo asked.
“Something like that.” Craig stared down and played with the hem of his T-shirt.
I was getting tired of Craig’s hedging. I’ll admit my tone may have been a little snappish when I asked, “What happened?”
“The museum burned down before I could . . . uh . . . obtain the original.”
“The museum burned last year.” I gritted my teeth. “Why do they want the mask back now?”
Craig gulped and delivered big blue puppy dog eyes. “I-I don’t know,” he said tragically.
“Enough!” Rodrigo banged his fist on the coffee table.
Craig jumped and the pound puppy look disappeared.
“Enough of this subterfuge and dribbling out information. Listen to me, you little—what did you call him?” Rodrigo glanced at me.
“A crap weasel.”
“You little crap weasel. I’m sick of you jerking us around.” Rodrigo grabbed a hunk of shirt in his fist and tried to shake Craig. Unfortunately, the shirt was so stretchy, all Rodrigo managed to do was wrinkle the front. However, the fierceness in which he delivered his next sentence kept us all from laughing. “You’d better start talking, or I’m going to call security and tell them that the man who broke into Karina’s room yesterday just broke into mine. You got me?”
Craig’s gaze flew up to us, wide-eyed with anxiety. “Someone broke into your room?”
I put my feet back up on the coffee table and tilted my head. “On Sunday morning.”
“But they didn’t find it, did they?” His voice pitched.
I took a few moments to examine Craig. “If you’re speaking of the mask. No. They did not.”
Craig’s posture physically deflated with relief and he blew out the breath he must have been holding.
“Now, as Rodrigo said, it’s time for you to start talking. Tell us why Adolfo and his brothers want the mask. I’m assuming they are the ones that trashed my room.”
“I’m not positive, but it wouldn’t surprise me.” He paused, and my brow rose. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. Adolfo borrowed money from his brothers and expected to pay them off with the money from the sale of the mask. The entire plan went belly up when the museum burned down. So, we were both out the payday. I was trying other avenues to . . . uh . . . acquire the money, and Adolfo assured me he could hold off his brothers until I made some cash for us. However, it seems they wanted their money sooner and decided to take an active hand in the situation. They left Milan with Adolfo, and came to Mexico to find me.”
“Are these brothers . . . ‘family men?’” I used my finger quotes.
Craig caught on immediately and shook his head. “No, no. More like nickel-and-dime thugs.”
Rodrigo snorted. “You keep delightful company, Craig.”
Getting back to the point, I asked, “Why didn’t you just give it back to Adolfo?”
“The brothers got it in their head that I could sell the fake to my buyer.”
Rodrigo and I took a moment to process that information.
“What the—Are you kidding?” I stuttered.
“Right?” He tsked. “Those two aren’t the brightest bulbs on the Christmas tree. When I told them that my buyer knew the original burned with the museum, they started putting out their own feelers to find some other sucker to sell it to.”
“Again, why didn’t you just give it to them?” I asked with irritation.
“Well . . .” Craig pondered his answer for a moment. “I figured if they did find a buyer, then I should act as the fence. After all, why shouldn’t I get a cut? I convinced them they needed me. However, Adolfo’s brothers are bungling idiots when it comes to antiquities, and their inquiries started making waves, and suddenly someone from Interpol’s Arts and Antiquities Bureau turned up asking questions in Mexico City. I barely had time to ship the mask off to my aunt and get the hell out of there. When I got settled in Escondido, I called Aunt Milly to tell her what was coming and ask her if she could reach out to some of her contacts to see what Interpol knew. Only instead of getting the information, she came down to Mexico. Unfortunately, Dumb and Dumber tracked me down and weren’t too pleased when I told them I’d ‘moved’ the mask for safekeeping.” He touched the bruised left eye. “It got worse when Aunt Milly showed up, because then they knew they had leverage. First, they hid me in a storage warehouse and told her to bring the mask or they’d kill me. Somehow, she found out who and where they were, and made a deal to trade herself for me. She told me to make contact with you, get the mask, and make the trade. And that’s where we stand right now.”
It took a moment for my brain to catch up with this guy’s story.
Rodrigo must have processed faster than I, because he asked an important question. “Why was Adolfo at the meet today?”
Craig ran a hand through his damp hair and glanced out the window. “I have no idea. Adolfo sometimes dances to the beat of his own drum. For all I know, he may have his own lead on a buyer and plans to cut us all out.”
“Would he do that?” I asked.
Craig pondered for a moment. “I wouldn’t have thought so, but the last time I saw him, he was acting rather strange.”
Rodrigo opened his mouth, but I didn’t want to go off on an Adolfo tangent, so I cut off whatever he was about to say. “Where are they holding your aunt?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t put her in the warehouse in Villahermosa where they were holding me.”
“Do you know if she’s okay?”
“As far as I know, she is fine.” He went back to twisting the hem of his T-shirt. “I’m supposed to contact them when I get the mask, and we will set up a meet in Mérida.”
“Where in Mérida?” Rodrigo jumped in.
Craig shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably some back alley, if I know these two clowns.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Forget Mérida and the back alley. If they want to make the exchange, we do it at a public venue, during the day. They bring your aunt. We bring the mask.”
“They’re not going to like it.”
“I don’t care what Dumb and Dumber like. If they want the mask, they’ll make it work.” Rodrigo snipped.
I nodded in agreement with Rodrigo. “Now make your phone call. Tell them you want proof-of-life before you decide on a place to meet.”
“What kind of proof do you want?” Craig asked.
I wasn’t a kidnap and ransom professional, but I’d seen the movies. “Tell them to text you a photo of your aunt holding today’s paper. If they are as dumb as you say, we’ll get twofer. Knowing your aunt is alive and well, and her location.”
Craig retrieved his phone from the bathroom, went to the sliding glass door, and pushed it open.
“What are you doing?” Rodrigo stood up.
“I’m doing what we discussed, calling Adolfo’s brothers. I thought I’d just step out on the deck.”
“You can do it here. In front of us.” I pointed to the rolling chair.
Craig shrugged, plopped into the chair, and dialed. Someone on the other end must have answered. “It’s Craig,” he told them.
He might as well have gone out on the balcony, because he started speaking in a foreign language. Even though he didn’t put it on speaker phone, we could hear some sharp responses, and halfway through the conversation, they must have threatened him or his aunt, because he burst out in English, “Don’t you dare threaten me!” before gabbling angrily in the foreign language. Eventually, they seemed to come to an understanding. Craig finished with, “I’m waiting,” tossed the phone on the coffee table, and commenced pacing about the room.
My own phone binged with a text from my sister Jillian.
Hey, Rina! Checking in to see how your trip is going. I haven’t heard from you since Saturday, and there are no new posts on social media lately. I bet it’s because you’re tanning by the pool with a drink in your hand and a flock of admirers. Are you drunk by noon every day? I’m doing okay. This cast is itchy, and Mom is driving me a bit cray-cray, but I’m glad she’s here because this cast is a pain in my ass. By the end of the day my poor toes are swollen to the size of fat sausages. Throw me a bone and send a pic soon. Say hi to Rodrigo for me.
I burst out laughing at my sister’s presumptions.
“What? What’s so funny?” Rodrigo asked.
“My sister. She’s assuming I’m so busy flirting with random strangers by the pool and drinking myself into a stupor that I don’t have time to post on social media.” I rolled my eyes.
“How is she doing?”
“Apparently, Mom is driving her nuts, her cast is itchy, and she’s probably in more pain than she’s letting on. Overall, I think she’s pretty miserable.” I could only thank my lucky stars that she hadn’t come and wasn’t involved in this mess. “Oh, and she said to say hello.”
“Tell her I say hi, and I hope she feels better,” Rodrigo replied.
“I’m not going to reply!”
“What happened to her?” Craig cut in. We both glanced at him and saw he had halted his pacing to stare out the sliding glass door.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked.
He turned to me. “Your sister. She’s in a cast. What happened?”
“She broke her leg roller skating. She was supposed to be on this trip, instead of Rodrigo. Right now, I’m rather glad she isn’t,” I said in clipped tones.
Craig’s gaze returned to the outdoor vista.
After a moment, Rodrigo filled in the awkward gap. “You have to reply. If you don’t, she’ll keep pestering you. There are too many bad stories about tourists these days. If she doesn’t hear from you, she’ll start to believe the worst.”
She wouldn’t be far from wrong. “I wouldn’t know what to text.”
“Tell her you’re fine. Having fun in the sun. You’ve been leaving your phone in the room for safekeeping, and that’s why you haven’t posted photos.”
“So, I should just make up a pack of lies?”
“It’s better than the truth. Here, do you want me to do it?” Rodrigo held out his hand, but I pulled the phone protectively to my chest.
“Your friend is right. You should tell her you’re fine.” Craig added his two cents in monotone.
I stood up and huffed. “Fine. Excuse me while I go out on the balcony to text Jillian a bunch of BS.”
Craig chivalrously opened the door. I took the handle and did my best to slam it shut. It closed in a very unsatisfying whoosh and click. I debated all the things I could write. In the end, I stayed as close to the truth as possible, telling her about our trip to Chichén Itzá . . . at least, the part before we were attacked by Adolfo. I attached a picture Rodrigo had taken of me in front of the Castillo, pressed send, and prayed Jillian would leave me alone for another day or two. Surely, by then, this situation would be resolved, and I could start taking poolside pics to satisfy my sister’s curiosity.
Rodrigo stuck his head out. “Proof of life came in.”
We received a photo of Mrs. Thundermuffin in a large-brimmed hat and a brightly colored beach cover-up sitting on a lounger by a pool and holding today’s Wall Street Journal. To my relief, she looked hale and hearty. However, the pair of thugs must have been smarter than Craig thought, because the Wall Street Journal did not tell us anything of her whereabouts.
I rose from my chair. “Tell him we’ll text him the meeting location soon.”
“What are you thinking?” Craig asked while his thumbs tapped out the message.
“I’m not sure yet. I’m going up to my room to shower and change. We’ll meet back here in an hour. Rodrigo, walk me to the elevator.” I pulled my backpack out from behind my chair. Craig’s gaze zeroed in on it and followed me as I exited with Rodrigo.
“Do you think it’s safe to leave him alone in my room?” he asked as we strode down the hallway.
“What’s he going to do? Steal your underwear? Run away? No, he’ll stick close to us until he gets the mask. He knows I have it in the backpack. I can see his weaselly little brain trying to figure out how he’s going to retrieve it. Did you catch any of the phone conversation? It sounded like he was speaking Italian.”
“Yes, he was. There are some similarities to Spanish, but I could only catch words here and there. At some point, I think they wanted to know where he was and he refused to tell them. I’m also fairly certain he told them he had the mask in his possession.”
“I’m not surprised.” We arrived at the elevator bank and I held out my hand. “I need the key I gave you to my room.”
Rodrigo blinked. “Why?”
“Because I have a feeling ol’ Craig’s skills extend to pick-pocketing. I don’t need him getting ahold of that key. When I get up to my room, I’ll find a place to hide the mask, and then I’ll call Silverthorne to see if they have any suggestions for a meeting place for the exchange.”
“Good idea.” Rodrigo pulled out his wallet and handed over the keycard to my room.
The elevator arrived. “See you in an hour,” I told him.