Murder on the Riviera (9 page)

Herculea buried herself under the covers and curled up into a ball.  Fitted with a cheerful patchwork quilt and mountains of plush pillows, the bed beckoned the weary traveler to surrender into unconsciousness.  And she did just that.

The next sound Herculea heard came twelve hours later as late morning sunlight poured through the drapes.  She awoke, startled, to the distinctive sound of a phone ringing.  Confused, she looked at her cell phone on the nightstand and saw that the noise was not coming from there.  It was the hotel phone. 
It must be Kent
, she thought.  His room was situated directly across the hall from hers, and polite as ever, he probably wanted to call rather than knock on her door, she surmised.

In a groggy voice, Herculea answered, “Hello?”

A baritone voice answered her in lightly accented English.  “Good morning, Miss Sanchez.  You have a package here at the front desk.  Would you like to come get it, or do I send a bellman up to deliver it?”

Taken aback, Herculea scanned her mind wondering who the package could be from.  The only people who knew what hotel she was in were her colleagues.  Could the dean have sent a package related to her research?  It seemed far-fetched.  Always on a tight budget, the dean would have given her any necessary materials in person before she left.

“Are you certain the package is for
Herculea
Sanchez?” She emphasized her unusual first name.

The Spanish surname Sanchez was common, and it would not be surprising if there had simply been a mix-up regarding the first names.

“Yes, it is for Herculea Sanchez.” The man confirmed.

Furrowing her brow, Herculea requested, “Well, then, yes, please send it up to my room.”

She hung up the phone and darted out of bed. Rushing to her duffel bag, she dug out a wrinkled satin robe and threw it on, tying the sash tightly around her waist.  There would be no time to dress or shower, and she would have to greet the porter in her robe.

A knock sounded at the door, and Herculea marched over to answer it.

“Good morning, Miss Sanchez.  I have a package for you.”

The young Brazilian bellman, handsome in his navy uniform, immodestly raked his eyes over her body before clearing his throat and offering the package. Ignoring his shameless gaze, Herculea fixed her eyes on the package, a small, rectangular box wrapped in pink with a notecard on top.

“Thank you,
Senhor
.” Herculea grasped the package and handed the bellman some coins as a tip.

“
Obrigado
.” The bellman brazenly took one last look at Herculea, disheveled dark hair cascading over her slinky robe, and walked away.

The box looked to contain some sort of jewelry, perhaps a wristwatch or necklace.  On the other hand, it could be a ballpoint pen.  Herculea frowned, lightly shaking the box, as she tore off the notecard and read the words printed in capital letters: “SEE YOU SOON, BEAUTIFUL.”  There was no name or signature, just those four bold words.  Unwrapping the box and lifting off the lid, Herculea revealed a sapphire choker set in solid gold.  The necklace was stunning and glittered enticingly in the morning light.  But who was it from?

Herculea walked across the hall, rapping firmly on Kent’s door.  Kent answered almost immediately, and Herculea nearly fainted.  Wrapped only in a terry cloth towel from the waist down, Kent was dripping wet.  His frame was even more muscular than it looked under his usual khakis and button down shirts.  His solid board of a chest was covered in dark gold hair that gave Herculea the urge to reach out and twine her fingers through it.

Flaming red, she looked up into his eyes and was surprised to see that he was ogling her body as well.  Suddenly wishing she had freshened before she came so impulsively to his door, Herculea’s scarlet cheeks grew even hotter.

Kent swallowed visibly and audibly, his eyes moving to her face as he managed, “Good morning.  Did you, um, sleep well?”

Returning to her senses as she met Kent’s familiar blue gaze, she replied, “Like a baby.  How about you?”

“Um, yes, very well indeed.  Did you want to get some breakfast?”

“Yes.  But first I wanted to show you this.” Herculea handed him the gift box.  “Open it,” she prodded.

“Is this for me?” Kent asked, looking confused.

“No.” Herculea frowned, instantly knowing that the gift had not been from Kent.  “No, it was delivered to my room this morning.  Someone brought it to the hotel.”

Kent opened the box, his eyes widening as he inspected the shiny jewelry inside.  “Who gave you this?”
              “I don’t know.  Someone anonymous who wrote this notecard.” Herculea placed the card in his hand.

“See you soon, beautiful?” He read on a questioning intonation.  “But who could this be from here in Rio?”

“That’s what I was wondering.  I have no idea.” Herculea shook her head.

“I’m no jewelry appraiser, but I would say this looks authentic.  These are genuine sapphires, and the gold could be 18 Carats,” Kent said in amazement.

“I think I should call the front desk and see if they can give me any more information.”  Herculea took the box from Kent and started to walk away.  “I’ll meet you in the dining room in a half hour for breakfast, okay?”

Giving her a stern look, Kent replied, “Yes, I’ll meet you there.  Be careful, Herculea.”

The warning was spoken in an avuncular fashion, but the look in his eyes betrayed far less platonic feelings blended with almost palpable concern.

Inside her room, Herculea rang the front desk.  She recognized the voice of the man who answered as the one who had woken her up earlier in the morning.  “This is Herculea Sanchez in room 518.”

“Yes, Miss Sanchez.  How may I help you?”

“I received the package.  Do you know who it is from? “
              The phone line was silent except for the delicate crackling of sound waves.

The man sighed deeply and finally responded.  “I am not at liberty to tell you that.”

The line went dead a second later.

Herculea was flabbergasted.  The man’s response had been completely unacceptable---and a little scary.  Herculea slipped out of her robe and shuffled over to the bathroom.  Hurriedly, she lathered guava shampoo into her grimy hair, soaping her skin with furious circular motions.  She needed to keep her promise to Kent and make it to breakfast in less than a half hour.  But first she would go to the front desk and confront the employee who had hung up on her.

There would be no time to blow dry and style her hair.  She would have to let it air dry, even though it would look like a riotous mess in the Brazilian humidity.  Choosing a cotton dress and slipping into a pair of matching flip flops, Herculea quickly ran a brush through her thick waves and ran out of the room towards the elevator.

She hated elevators. They made her claustrophobic, and she had spent far too much time indoors recently.  Longingly, Herculea shut her eyes to drown out the strident beeping of the elevator and replace it with the soothing whir of ocean waves. 
This trip doesn’t have to be all business
, she told herself. 
In fact, I’m long overdue for a vacation.  Maybe in the afternoon I could take a taxi to the beach and stretch out under the sun, even do a few yoga poses on the sand.

The elevator door opened at lobby level, jolting Herculea back to reality.  She ran towards the front desk.  The lobby was vast and reminded her of the ostentatious dance hall Pedro had taken her to.  It had not even been a week ago, yet it felt like an eternity.  She tried to get her bearings in this astrodome of a lobby that jutted out to all four corners of the hotel.  She didn’t know what direction to take, and there didn’t seem to be any signs.

A slightly amused voice spoke to her from behind.  “Do you like the necklace?”
              Immediately recognizing the deep-timbered Spanish accent, she whirled around and found herself face to face with Pedro.

Chapter 5

Pedro took several methodical steps forward until he was practically mouth to mouth with Herculea.  Astonished, she rubbed her eyes to see if it was really Pedro standing before her, or just a mirage formulated in her head as a result of too much travel and too little nourishment.

“I asked you if you like the necklace,” Pedro coaxed, cocking his head to the side and favoring her with a confident grin.

Herculea was speechless. The room began to spin around her, and she desperately needed a drink of water.  What was he doing here?  He was relentless in appraising her, just as he had been since the moment they met at the gym back in San Francisco.

“The necklace was from you?”

His eyes sparkled more brilliantly than the sapphires as he easily replied, “Of course.  So much better than a text message, don’t you think?” He winked at her as his grin broadened.

“What?” She asked in confusion.

“After the night we shared, I knew that you are no ordinary woman.  So I had to do something extraordinary for you.  I thought about sending flowers to your office, but that is much too cliché.  And of course a text message or voicemail wouldn’t be good enough.  So, I selected the necklace for you.  The colors complement your honey skin beautifully.”

Herculea listened to his excessive flattery in stark disbelief.  All this time, she had been neurotically checking her phone and had even dismissed him as uninterested.  But now, here he was at her hotel in Brazil, showering her with romantic compliments and an expensive gift.

“But how did you know I was here?” She asked, still unable to grasp the fact that Pedro was there in the flesh.

“You told me you were going to Rio.”

“Yes, but I didn’t tell you where I was staying,” Herculea argued.

Pedro waved his hand dismissively.  “I had a feeling you were here.”

“You had a feeling?  But that’s crazy.  This is Rio de Janeiro.  There must be hundreds of hotels here.”

“Herculea, do not waste your time on unimportant details.  I found your hotel, I found you, and now can continue where we left off last week.”

As he spoke, he looked so deeply into her eyes that she could discern tiny flecks of color in his pupils.  Reluctantly, she found herself enraptured once again.  She was powerless to ask any further questions.  She was swimming in his presence, but struggling to stay afloat, sinking breathlessly beneath the water of his cappuccino eyes.

“I don’t know what to say.  The necklace is so beautiful.  Thank you.  I’m just so shocked right now.” Herculea said in a soft tone, as Pedro reached over and gave her hand a squeeze, banishing any doubts that he was a hallucination.

“
De nada
.  You look like you need a good meal.  Let me take you somewhere.”

He enfolded her hand in his and started to lead her towards the hotel’s revolving doors.  He seemed to know the place so well, it was uncanny.  Suddenly, she remembered her breakfast with Kent.  He was already worried about her and would be frantic if she stood him up.

“Pedro, I can’t go with you right now.  I’m supposed to meet my colleague for breakfast.”

Pedro’s glittering expression instantly darkened.  “Herculea, you are supposed to be with me.  Our adventure has not even begun.  Come, trust me.”

Hypnotized as she was by Pedro, she definitely did not trust him and found it disingenuous for him to make such a request of someone he had met a week ago.

“What’s the hurry?  I just got to Brazil, and I don’t like to disappoint my friends.” Herculea spoke confidently and felt satisfied to have regained some of her normal composure, not to mention good sense.

Before Pedro could respond, a deafening roar of thunder tore across the sky.  Herculea looked out the window, shocked to see a violent onslaught of rain pounding down.  Chaos instantly erupted in the hotel.

“Tropical storm!” A young man ran by shouting.  “Hurricane!  Bring everything inside!” He urged in Portuguese.

Unfazed, Pedro looked condescendingly at the frantic young employee.  “It’s just a little rain shower,” he scoffed.

“I don’t think so,” Herculea protested.  “Look how dark the sky is.” She pointed outside to an atmosphere that was shaded in gloomy gray and raven.

As Herculea assessed the unexpected assault from Mother Nature, Kent strolled up next to her.

“There you are.  Are you ready for breakfast?  I believe the dining room is just down the hall,” Kent addressed Herculea.

Kent didn’t notice the volatile expression plastered on Pedro’s face, nor did it register in his head that Herculea knew the man.  Pedro spoke before Herculea could.

“But what about
our
breakfast date, Herculea?” Pedro gave her a meaningful look.

Kent noticed Pedro for the first time, frowning at the sight of the man’s impeccable business suit, thick black waves, and rugged stubble.

“Who is this?” Kent addressed Herculea.

Uncomfortably, she introduced the two men.  “Kent, this is Pedro.  Pedro, this is my colleague, Kent.  We work together at the university back home.”

The two men held a competitive stance and refrained from shaking hands.

Pedro remained smugly silent, but Kent was not satisfied with Herculea’s vague introduction.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t catch how you know Pedro?”

Herculea was again at a loss for words.  Pedro had no title in her life, no significance at all, really.  What would be the appropriate way to introduce him?  For some reason, she felt guilty telling Kent that she and Pedro had been on a date.  Even though he had no right to be, Kent was clearly jealous, and she did not want to hurt his feelings.

As Herculea mulled over an answer in her mind, Pedro stepped in and said possessively, “Herculea and I are in a new relationship.  We met in San Francisco, and I have flown halfway around the world to be with her…and to present her with a necklace unworthy of her beauty.”

Herculea winced.  The pain on Kent’s face was almost tangible, and for the first time, she wondered if he had real feelings for her.

Collecting himself quickly, Kent cleared his throat and said, stone-faced, “Enjoy your breakfast, Herculea.”

Without looking in her direction, he turned and walked away. She felt unreasonably devastated as she watched Kent’s broad back disappear into the distance.  Herculea did not notice that the rain had begun to pour in sheets, nor did she see the swarm of workers buzzing around her carrying inside soaking picnic tables and patio-style furniture.  Pedro gently encircled her wrist in his grip.

“Come, Herculea.  Let’s go to my home for breakfast.”

“Your home?” She echoed.

“
Sí
, I told you I travel frequently.  Brazil is one of many places I call home.”

Pedro produced a black umbrella from his jacket pocket, opening the door in front of them and shielding Herculea from the incessant rain.  They ran in unison from the hotel to Pedro’s car.  It was obviously expensive with a sunroof they would not be using today.  Pedro repeated his gentlemanly ritual of escorting her into the passenger’s seat.

“Such a humid day.  But now it feels cold from the rain.  Would you like some heat?” He asked politely as Herculea nodded emphatically, shivering in her wet cotton dress.

The man was as much an enigma as ever, and Herculea wasn’t sure if she could ever probe the depths of his heart.  The kind of arrogant hardness Pedro exuded came from severe heartbreak, Herculea knew too well herself.  She would be exceedingly cautious in her interactions with him, as she knew instinctively that opening her heart would lead him to shatter it.

But no one could be more useful in guiding her to the Silver Goddess.  She refused to get sidetracked from her goal of researching and writing a book that would transform her career.  With an acclaimed book under her belt, Herculea would be hired by any university she desired.  The possibilities were limitless, and Herculea was determined to succeed, even if it meant spending her time in Brazil under Pedro’s influence.  Kent would understand; he was, after all, the consummate workaholic.

The ride went on for what seemed like hours, and it was obvious to Herculea that they had left the confines of the city.  The panorama changed from high rise buildings and billboards to free roaming farm animals and flowering trees.  Pedro said little, glancing over at Herculea occasionally with a sensual smirk.  She coolly returned his gaze each time, nervous about what would transpire once they reached his home.

The storm had passed, and rays of afternoon sun were blazing by the time they arrived at Pedro’s house.  Set on multiple acres of rural land, his house was impressive.  Although the estate’s size was palatial, the design was rustic and reminiscent of a New England farmhouse.

Herculea exclaimed, “This is your house?!”

Pedro merely grinned.  “Yes,” he said matter of factly.  “Do you like it?”
              “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, observing a cluster of birds sipping from a porcelain bath in the front yard.

Herculea was again struck by how little she knew about this man.  She had no idea what he did for a living to be able to afford such a spacious residence.  She hadn’t seen his home in San Francisco, but if it were anything like this, then he must be a millionaire.

“How often do you come here?” She queried once they were out of the car.

The drinking birds trilled a happy tune as they continued to frolic in the bath.  A few cats appeared from the side yard and began chasing after the birds, who squawked and flew away hastily in a whirlwind of feathers.

“Not nearly as often as I would like.  I do love to come here.” Pedro inhaled the fresh country air and said expressively, “Look at those animals.  I’ve missed them.”

Pedro pointed lovingly to the cats, and Herculea’s eyes widened.  Was this a tender side the arrogant seducer was displaying?  She wasn’t sure if she should believe it.

“I love animals,” he continued.  “Those cats live on the property.  I feed them and give them milk.  So they stay even when I’m away for months.  They wait for me.”

Herculea’s disbelief mounted as she threw him a puzzled look.  Suddenly, the cats ran over to Pedro, perhaps catching a whiff of his scent.  The trio of felines rubbed against his legs as he bent down to stroke each one.  He clearly had a connection with the animals.  Each of the cat’s fur bore a distinct pattern.  One was a calico, another was a tuxedo cat, and the third was snowy white with crystal blue eyes.

“These cats really love you too,” Herculea observed.  “I wish I could have a cat, but I travel too much.  A tabby would be nice.  Maybe an orange or silver tabby.”

She remarked offhandedly, flinching as she finished her thought.  The moment she had spoken the word “silver” Pedro’s expression had transformed to an odd mixture of ominous and mournful.

Ignoring her comment, Pedro began striding ahead, muttering, “Let’s go eat.  Wait for me on the patio.”

He led her unceremoniously to the backyard, up several flights of stairs that revealed a furnished patio with breathtaking views of the property.  His backyard looked like a misty jungle.  Lush trees populated the yard, some bearing ripe fruits and others offering fragrant blossoms.  Exotic species of birds flitted around the trees, and a few wild monkeys clung to the branches.  The patio itself was a replica of the vibrant yard, decorated with potted plants.

Pedro disappeared inside, and Herculea shut her eyes for a few sweet moments.  This was the first morsel of peace she had tasted in a very long time.  The natural setting, made even more refreshing by a lingering drizzle of rain, calmed her senses and made those hellish plane rides seem almost comical.

Pedro emerged from inside the house carrying a large tray and pitcher.  The tray contained a tempting cornucopia of fruits: guava, watermelon, strawberries, tangerines, and a sprinkling of black cherries.  The glass pitcher was filled with a transparent orange liquid and ice cubes.

“Mango juice,” he explained, filling a glass for her.

“Ooh, I’ve never had mango juice.”

She took a mighty gulp of the frosty citrus juice, savoring the soothing feel of it lacing her parched throat.

“Mmmm,” she murmured.

The juice was sugary, but with an oddly bitter aftertaste that Herculea could not identify.  It almost tasted of rum or some other alcohol.  But, no, he wouldn’t serve her an alcoholic drink in the middle of the day.  This was not a champagne brunch; it was a light snack of fruit slices.

“I hope the fruit will be enough for now.  I kept it frozen while I was away.  Any perishable food would be disgusting by now.”

“I read that frozen fruit has even more nutrients than fresh fruit.  The transportation process from farm to supermarket causes the fruit to lose nutrients,” Herculea remarked as Pedro raised his eyebrows.

“Do you always think of everything from an intellectual perspective?” He asked pointedly and with unhidden amusement.

She blushed.  “No.  I was just commenting.” She lowered her eyes to the plate in front of her. “The fruit looks delicious.”

Hungrily, she stabbed her fork into a banana, still cold from whatever Pedro had done to defrost it.  One by one, the cats climbed the stairs to the patio.  They sniffed around briefly and, not finding anything to their liking, disappeared into the yard.