Heaven Is High (12 page)

At the highway, David turned to the right, toward Belmopan, and after a mile or two there was another
ORANGE WALK
sign, this one quite legible, and with an assortment of small houses designated.

“Probably housing for the workers at the finca,” David said. A few children were at play in the shade of palm trees.

“I didn't see any sign of a real farm, fields, or anything else except the house,” Barbara said.

“Behind the hedges all around the fields, I expect,” David said. “It's a farm, all right. Sugarcane, they say. Who knows what else?”

“Who cares?” Bobby said. “That guy Santos wanted to know our business plan, for Christ's sake. How much we planned to spend on a hotel, cabanas, equipment, staff, shit like that.”

“I kept telling him we're just trying to test the water for support,” Ben said, sounding almost as sulky as Bobby. “He said no one's going to offer support for just a dream. We need a business plan first, then support. Not the way we see it. What's the point in going through that if the support isn't there?”

Babes in the water, Barbara thought, gazing at the landscape, thinking about what David had said: fields screened from view. That wall of green had not been random jungle growth, but a planted screen? It had been too regular, she realized, for the kind of exuberant growth everywhere else, especially the edges of roads where sunlight hit. But why screen off the producing part of a plantation? She gave it up when no answer came.

The landscape they were driving past had changed again, had become agricultural in nature. There were more houses, farm and field equipment, pastures, cornfields.…

In the distance she could see hills, or low mountains, as green and dense-looking as any of the jungle.

“Maya Mountain off to the left,” David said. “That's really rugged country, hairpin curves in the road, white-water rapids and falls.”

“And no guardrails,” Bobby muttered.

It was only ten miles to Belmopan, which turned out to be little more than a village, even though it was the capital of the country. There were several churches, the capital building, and a few other official buildings, a street of apartment buildings, a scant residential section, and small houses that seemed to be temporary, Quonset huts or similar buildings such as she had seen before, often for student housing. She knew they had moved the capital inland after a particularly destructive hurricane. It didn't appear that a lot of residents had followed.

“Okay, a coffee shop, restaurant, something like that, and cold water,” David said, driving slowly through the main part of town.

They settled on a tea shop, where the coffee was excellent, and the waitress did not seem to find it strange when Barbara asked for iced coffee. David asked Ben how receptive Santos had been, besides asking for a business plan.

“I couldn't tell,” Ben said. “He wasn't giving away a thing. He did tell us to get in touch with a local attorney that he recommended, one who knows what we'd need, permits, stuff like that.”

Barbara sipped her coffee and found herself shaking her head. “Don't do it, Ben. Let me give you a little advice. You do need an attorney, and in fact you'll need one stateside, and another associate here in Belize, but not one that Santos or anyone else here recommends. Your stateside attorney should be the one to find a local associate, and he should vet him thoroughly and make certain that your interests are protected. You can't count on anyone Santos recommends to do that.”

“Why not?” Bobby said sulkily. “You guys are supposed to take care of the one who pays the bill, aren't you?”

“We are, but you can't know who else might be paying him,” she said slowly.

“You just didn't like him,” Bobby said, sounding more peevish than ever. “You wouldn't even accept a cold drink from him. I thought that was pretty rude.”

“Let me tell you a little lesson I learned a long time ago,” she said, surprised at the memory that had surged with his words. “My dad's a defense attorney, too. I was in court once when I was about twelve or thirteen and he was questioning a witness. That night he asked me what I had thought of the part of the trial I had watched, and I said the guy on the witness stand was scary. He made me explain what I meant and all I could come up with was that his eyes were dead. My father didn't say anything for quite a long time, and then he said I was exactly right, his eyes were dead. His soul was dead and it showed. Santos has dead eyes and he's every bit as frightening as that witness was. I would not trust him to recommend anyone.”

11

For the most part the drive back to Belize City was a quiet one, as if they all had private matters to think about. Barbara was trying to place Ronstadt in the drama of Julius Santos versus Anaia Santos Thurston, and having little success. If asked why she had advised him to write a book, she would have had no real answer, except that he had reminded her of Frank. Following the death of Barbara's mother, Frank had stopped taking capital cases, compounding his loss. She had seen him sink into almost an apathetic state, during which he had said he planned to retire altogether. Retire and prepare to die, had been her thought at the time. But Frank had found a new life-sustaining purpose and pleasure. He had returned to the law in a different guise by writing a book about it. Ronstadt had had that same kind of resigned acceptance but had shown her the same kind of solicitude and concern that Frank would have shown. Recognizing that, responding to it, did not in itself help place Ronstadt on either side of the Santos versus Thurston drama, however. He continued to hover somewhere between Julius and Anaia.

At one point on the drive back to Belize City, Bobby said plaintively, “Let's hang out on one of the islands a couple of days. Do a little diving.”

“Sure,” Ben said. A few minutes later he broke another silence, saying, “I want to talk to Gabe. Maybe we've been going at it all wrong from the start.”

“He might not even be around anymore,” Bobby said. “He's getting the boat ready to take off again. He's just waiting for some books or something.”

No one responded, and they all resumed their silent contemplation.

When they reached the outskirts of Belize City, David said, “You guys can get out at the hotel entrance while I take the Jeep to the parking lot. Barbara, join me for a drink on the terrace? Compensation for your work today.”

“You're on,” she said. “But only after I shower and change my clothes.”

“Good enough. I have to stow away the camera gear.”

She stayed in the Jeep when he pulled up before the hotel. “I'll go with you, help carry stuff,” she said.

Ben and Bobby were out of the Jeep before she finished speaking. Pointed as she had been with offering help, neither one had picked up on it, she reflected. Too much money, too used to having people wait on them, serve them, it showed in ways they weren't even aware of.

Driving around the block to the parking area behind the hotel, David said, “Bobby isn't the dope he appears to be, not entirely at least. If they make it work, Ben will end up as business head of the enterprise, and Bobby will be the water sports guru. He's good at anything to do with water, maybe the best, and it's his passion. He could teach rocks to swim and dive.”

“And he'll never go inland at all,” she commented.

“He'll make damn sure of that,” David said with a laugh.

He parked near the rear entrance of the hotel, and they unloaded his gear. As before, Barbara carried the tripod and screen. His room was on the second floor, as was hers, and she went to his door with him, where he took the tripod and screen and thanked her.

“An hour? Enough time?” he asked.

“An hour,” she said. She planned to stay under a tepid shower for most of the hour. Hot and sweaty was not a condition she had ever grown used to, and one she did not like.

In her room, she eyed her suitcase, locked but breachable. Anyone determined to open it could do so. She unlocked it and gazed at the manila envelope. Now that Julius Santos knew who she was, he could easily find out where she was, and he could decide to see what she had brought with her. She considered the hotel safe and shook her head. Unknown security, unknown access. Finally she removed the envelope and put it in her beach bag. She would keep it in her possession until she saw Anaia Thurston.

*   *   *

When she walked out onto the terrace, she was not at all surprised to see the broncos and David at Gabe Newhouse's table. She realized with a bit of surprise that she had removed David from the bronco camp. Gabe waved her over.

“Join us,” he said, standing, pulling out a chair next to his. “David said he owed you a drink, but I preempted that by ordering a bottle of wine. I've been hearing about your day.”

He also had ordered a cold plate of shrimp, fish escabeche, thin slices of what looked like tuna, and a loaf of a crusty, dark bread.

“Just a little snack to tide us over until dinner,” he said, pouring wine for her. “Friday and Saturday nights dinner never even pretends to start until ten or later. Shops are open, stalls on the streets, music and dancing in the square, paella in the square, but later.” Then he added, “And, of course, pickpockets are also in the square.” He was eyeing her big bag.

Barbara put it on the floor at her feet. “Nothing in there to tempt a thief,” she said.

“Ah, but does the thief know that before he grabs and runs?”

“I almost forgot,” she said. “The folder for the botanical gardens.” She brought it out from the bag and made certain that the bag was securely fastened afterward. “Ronstadt's address,” she said, handing the folder to David. He thanked her.

“Oh, you met Ronstadt,” Gabe said. “I'm afraid he does not approve of American filmmakers. No doubt he believes we're all rather frivolous.”

“He insulted you?” Bobby asked with interest.

“Not at all. He was polite, exceedingly polite.” Gabe laughed. Then he said to Barbara, “They told me what advice you gave them about attorneys, and I second it wholeheartedly. Good advice.” Thoughtfully he said, “I know the forest can be dangerous for inexperienced wanderers, and I believe many locals who appear to be quite charming can also be dangerous. I've never met Julius Santos, but if you consider him to be less than trustworthy, I'd accept that judgment without hesitation, unless and until proven wrong.”

“Everyone is local somewhere,” Barbara said. “I've learned that charm and good manners wherever encountered can be a facade that masks a lot of intentions, some of them quite evil.”

Gabe nodded and sipped his wine.

“Okay,” Ben said then, “so we need to get an attorney back home. Make a real presentation, the whole MBA thing. We'll have to bring someone aboard who knows how to do that. Make the presentation.” He sounded resigned and morose.

“Not my thing,” Bobby said. “Count me out.”

“What do you mean, count you out? This whole thing was your idea.”

Bobby stood and said, “I'm going to go shower and take a nap.”

He walked away, and Ben jumped to his feet and followed. “You're in this,” he said furiously. “So it won't be all fun and games! No way am I going to count you out.”

Gabe laughed and poured more wine for Barbara and David. “I think the forest is wearing Bobby down,” he said.

“You call it forest,” Barbara commented. “So did Ronstadt. But I kept thinking of it as jungle, and my idea of forest is the fir forests of the Northwest.”

“She advised Ronstadt to write a book,” David said. “Made his day.”

“Really? Why did you?” Gabe asked.

Barbara was surprised that David had overheard that brief conversation. He had appeared to be concentrating so much on his camera, the orchids, his technique, that she had assumed he had tuned everything else out. Wrong, she thought, and again considered the question: Why had she so advised Ronstadt?

“I think that when anyone no longer does the one thing he or she has loved, whatever it is must be replaced by something else equally compelling, or that person starts the downward spiral into a life without purpose that leads to depression and despair,” she said slowly. “He has tended those orchids for years, they are his passion. And he believes that Julius Santos plans to sell them. He's already in mourning.”

For a time Gabe did not speak. Then he said softly, “I think you are wise beyond your years, Barbara.”

“It also seems to imply that he believes Julius Santos has the right to sell them, or that he soon will have that right,” she said. “I wonder, does he know about the ongoing drama you described?”

Gabe was watching her closely. He looked away, toward the boats at dock. Still speaking softly he said, “He knows. Most people around here know.”

“Do they all think that Julius Santos will have the right to sell the orchids, or anything else from the plantation?”

He continued to watch the dock. He sounded almost mocking when he said, “I don't believe a poll has been taken. But, Barbara, I think they would agree for the most part that Julius Santos would be a dangerous enemy.”

“I'll try to keep out of his way,” she said, and helped herself to the escabeche.

More and more people had come out to the terrace. Another waiter appeared to help Henry, and music was started in the bar. Strolling musicians with guitars wandered among the terrace tables, and Gabe began to tell funny stories about Hollywood. It was a pleasant hour, Barbara thought later, but she wanted to be alone, to think about the day, and especially about the coming day when she finally would meet the elusive Anaia Santos Thurston.

“You might take a little walk,” Gabe said. “Friday evening into the late hours is a fine time to pick up souvenirs, sample some of the local food.”

“And watch out for pickpockets,” she said gravely.