Take the Money: Romantic Suspense in Costa Rica (3 page)

“When does the plane leave?”

“Forty-five minutes.  They’ll be boarding soon.”

She turned and fled, not responding as he called after her to have a pleasant flight. Now she had to get through Security.  A knapsack full of bills wouldn’t trigger any alarms, and yet her heart sped up as she sucked in her breath, took off her boots and threw her bag on the conveyor manned by two security guards dressed in the usual Post Office blues.

A stolid male with steely gray hair and a bristly mustache looked her up and down carefully as he stopped the conveyor. 

“What’s in that bottle?” he demanded. 

Julie tried to unscramble her exhausted brain and recall the items she’d thrown into the bag.  “Contact solution, I think,” she said, trying to sound casual.  “Would you like me to get it out?”

“If you would, please.”

Julie fished around and found a big white bottle, which the guard promptly threw in a trash can. With a swift kick to the foot pedal, he reactivated the conveyor and Julie exhaled slowly. Every second seemed like an hour as the bag inched its way to safety, but she tried to assume the usual bored look of the innocent, seasoned traveler who is forced to put up with the minor annoyances of a security check.  She picked the backpack up and slung it across her shoulders, resisting the impulse to take it and run.  

She felt a rush of adrenaline as she scurried along the passenger ways lined with shops and newsstands to the end gate.  Another new country beckoned.  Once again, she was leaving the heartland where she’d never felt she belonged. 

She headed for a seat and turned to look at her fellow travelers, a pretty casual bunch compared to the flights she’d taken to Europe.  Even though travel clothes had gotten less formal, she’d never seen so many people in blue jeans.  She was going to fit in pretty well. They might have been going on a picnic or to a rock concert.  There were several students, too, and she remembered the medical school she’d heard about in San Jose.  Then, to her dismay, she saw the couple from the ticket counter moving toward her.

“May we sit here?” the woman asked, pointing to empty seats beside Julie.

“Of course.”  Julie spotted a discarded
USA Today
on the floor and picked it up, hoping to escape conversation.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” the woman said.  “You’re going to see your sister in the hospital?”

“That’s right.”  Julie’s eyes were so tired that the newsprint blurred, but she pretended to be vitally interested in reading about some rock star in the
Life
section.

“Why is your sister in Costa Rica?”

“She’s—umm--doing some missionary work.”

“’Really?  What denomination is she with?”

Julie hesitated.  The woman was no doubt very active in her own church.  Goddamn, why couldn’t she mind her own business?

“I think it’s interdenominational,” Julie said.

“Poor thing.  Does she have dengue fever, or what?”

Mercifully, the loudspeaker blared that it was time to board.  The couple was called far ahead of Julie, so she was relieved from having to weave a greater web of lies.  She settled down into her seat at the back of the plane, grabbed a pillow and blanket, and let her head fall back against the seat. Suddenly she was aware of aching all over, numb with exhaustion, when the pilot announced they were preparing for takeoff.  As the plane droned across the runway, she felt herself slipping away into her dreams.  Then, abruptly, they came to a halt and her head snapped up in alarm.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen.  Sorry, but there’s been a slight delay.  We have a passenger who almost missed the flight and we’ve decided to let him aboard.”

Julie turned to the flight attendant who stood behind her, clicking her long fingernails in annoyance.  “Why would they stop the plane?” she asked. “Usually, if you miss a flight, it’s your own tough luck, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” the young woman said, her smooth forehead furrowing.  “He’s either someone pretty important or a fast talker.”

Julie tried to ignore the prickle of apprehension traveling down her spine. She told herself she was overreacting, feeling paranoid about ordinary events.  It was ridiculous.  She’d done nothing wrong.  Or had she?

TWO

Prosecutor Ed Corey, head of the Clark County Task Force on Drugs, was awakened from a deep, post-coital slumber by the ringing of his land line.

“It’s about Kevin DuFrain” Detective Fisher told him.  “There’s been a wreck over on Highway 140; he went off the road and the car caught fire.  He’s dead. I don’t think it was an accident.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure. I was in the restaurant tonight having dinner, just like we planned at the meeting yesterday.  His girlfriend was waiting on me, then all of a sudden, there was someone else bringing my order.  When I asked the waitress what had happened to the Lawson girl, she said they’d gone on an errand over to West Lewiston. I got up to find out where they went, but it was too late.  They’d disappeared.  Next thing I know, there’s a 911 about a wreck over near St. Theresa’s College.  I get to the scene and the girl isn’t anywhere in sight.”

“Get out to the girl’s house right away.  We need to find out what she does next.”

Ed’s bride turned on the light.  His first wife had been used to these types of calls and found them annoying, but Mary Margaret still enjoyed the excitement.  “What is it?” she asked, her honey-colored hair spilling across her small young breasts as she propped herself up on a pillow. 

“It’s DuFrain,” he said.  “He’s been in a wreck but his girlfriend got away.”

“Kevin DuFrain?”  Her voice was tinged with awe.  She and the other secretaries at the courthouse sometimes had lunch at the Kensington House.

“Yep.  We’re pretty sure he’s part of an interstate drug ring bringing cocaine to Lewiston.”

“Interstate?  Why do you think that?”

“Caught a couple of guys in Michigan last week with coke in their cars.  They made a deal with the prosecutor in exchange for information.  Seems this DuFrain was behind the trafficking of cocaine from Lewiston to Phoenix.  We’ve been watching him real close the past few days, especially since he just bought a new Porsche.”

“But they do a big business at the Kensington House.  He’s very successful.” 

Corey snorted. “What does a basketball player know about running a restaurant?  He can’t be making that kind of money; the previous owners went bankrupt on it.  And his folks are farmers who drive pick-up trucks, not the kind to buy that type of vehicle for their son.”

“So this would make you look good, right?”  Mary Margaret trailed a fingernail along his spine.  “I mean, if you could break up a drug ring like that.  The newspaper wouldn’t be able to criticize you anymore.”

The Lewiston Star had been on his case ever since he had failed to get a conviction of the Whitney woman who ran a day care center where a baby had smothered to death under a pile of blankets.

“I don’t know why they blame you about Dee Whitney going free,” Mary Margaret said. “Everyone in town believes her rich Daddy bought off the judge.”

Ed caressed his wife’s soft warm bottom, wondering just how high a price he’d paid for it.  Syrians weren’t supposed to leave their wives for Irish secretaries, especially if they were running for re-election in the spring.  He had risked the ire of the priests at St. James Orthodox Church and St. John’s Catholic Church and most of the women in the party by marrying this woman. Now there was a faction in the local organization saying there should be a new candidate on the ticket.  He desperately needed a high profile conviction.

“The Whitney case will be forgotten in the spring,” he assured her. “Kevin DuFrain’s girlfriend is going to show us the money.”

                                                                      * * *

The rain had come on a wave of arctic air, and it was cold inside the car five minutes after Detective Fisher turned off the motor.   He shivered and turned up his coat collar when he saw the light go on upstairs.  Was Julie Lawson going straight to bed after seeing her boyfriend blow up?  He hoped she had other plans, because he’d freeze his ass if he had to spend the night sitting in the car across the street from her house.  To his relief, he spotted someone coming out the side entrance within a few minutes.  A woman in a white gown was running down the steps. He heard the start of a motor and saw the car moving across the driveway.  The car stopped for a few moments.  There seemed to be some words exchanged between the woman and whoever was driving.  He recognized Julie behind the wheel as she pulled out into the road and turned right.

Following her to the Indy airport was not a problem, except for the damn semis splashing mud against his windshield.   But he’d been surprised when she bought a ticket to Costa Rica.  That took a lot of guts, leaving the country.  And she’d paid with cash. He picked up his cell phone and called Ed Corey.

“She headed for Costa Rica,” he said.  “I just confirmed it with the ticket agent.”

“Where is she right now?”

“On her way to the departure gate.”

“How long before the flight leaves?”

“About an hour.  Shall I pick her up and bring her in?”

“No. She wasn’t at the crime scene and we don’t have anything on her. Anyway, we need to know what she’s doing and why she’s headed for Central America. I’ll get in touch with the Task Force in Indy and have someone tail her.  This may be bigger than we think.”

Ed Corey called his contact at the DEA and reported what was happening.  When they took him seriously and said they’d take it from there, he was exhilarated.  He was in the major leagues now. An international drug ring.  To hell with the editors at the Lewiston Star and his enemies in the party.               

THREE

“Come back! Tell me where you’re going.”  Maggie screamed at the fleeting Honda as Julie revved the motor and turned right toward the highway.  Although Maggie was shivering in the cold rain, her face was hot as she tried to play back Julie’s words in her mind.
Kevin killed. Some kind of trouble. Don’t call the police.
What in God’s name had Julie gotten herself into?  Maggie fought the impulse to run out onto the road and down the highway behind the car.

Maggie stumbled up the porch, let herself into the house and raced for the bathroom.  Her stomach contracted violently but nothing came up.  Overhead, the stairs creaked with the sound of heavy footsteps, and she heard Jed’s voice, thick with sleep.

“What’s wrong?  Why were you outside?”  Jed hadn’t bothered to throw on a robe, and he used his bare butt to close the door Maggie had left hanging open. The lace curtains fluttered as a gust of damp air swept through the house, but Maggie wasn’t feeling the cold.  She was numb with fear.  “Julie’s in some kind of trouble.  Oh, Jed, I’m so scared.”

Jed put an arm around her waist.  “Here, let me help you to the living room.”

Her legs watery, Maggie leaned against her husband’s sturdy body and hung on while he guided her to the couch. “She’s run off again.”

“But why?”  Jed turned on the ceiling light and squinted at her while his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.  His thinning white hair was tousled above the deep furrows of his forehead, and his well-trimmed white beard set off his tanned skin.

“It has nothing to do with you or me,” she said, knowing what he was probably thinking.

“Well, that’s a relief.  I was trying to remember what I might have said today--or yesterday.  I don’t think we’d had a disagreement, but of course you never know, where Julie is concerned.”

“She said there’d been an accident and that Kevin was killed.”

Jed frowned. “It wouldn’t be like her to run if the accident was her fault.”

“She didn’t explain, but she didn’t want to call the police, either.  Oh, God, what can I do?”  Maggie jumped to her feet and began to pace back and forth.

“Well, the first thing we can do is try and find out about this accident.  We’ll have to call the police, there’s no other way.”

“No. Let’s wait and see if it’s on the eleven o’clock news.”

“Then why don’t you come to bed and watch?  I think you should lie down.”

Maggie folded her arms and clenched them to her waist as if trying to hold herself together. “That would be impossible, I’m too nervous.”  She continued pacing in front of the window, her eyes on the road.

“The news won’t be on for a few minutes.  I think you need something to calm you down.”  Jed went into the dining room and opened the liquor cabinet in the walnut buffet that lined the far wall.

“Don’t bother with whiskey,” Maggie said. “I don’t want to knock myself out.  Just pour me a small glass of Chardonnay.”

Jed took out two long-stemmed crystal wine glasses.  Maggie would have been satisfied with a paper cup or a juice glass, but Jed had an instinct for doing things correctly.  He uncorked the bottle he’d put in the refrigerator after dinner and poured the pale liquid almost to the rim.   

Maggie sat down and took several long drinks without bothering to savor the nutty flavor.  When she finished the wine, her hands stopped shaking but there was a buzzing in her head and she began muttering, hardly aware of Jed’s presence.  “I haven’t been the right mother for Julie,” she said, twirling the glass in her fingers.

Jed walked over to where she sat moving her lips and bent down so that his eyes met hers. “Stop it, Maggie!” He was almost shouting in an effort to pull her out of her frantic ruminations.  “You are a good mother.  Julie may have been a top student, but she sometimes lacks common sense.”

“But I just didn’t know what to do with someone that bright.”

“You loved her and nurtured her, didn’t you?  Did you ever starve or abuse her in any way?”

“Good Lord, no, but she’s never forgiven me for the divorce.  Her father was so proud of her, and he didn’t mistreat her the way he did me; he never laid a finger on her.”

“We’ve been over this before. You couldn’t stay married to a man who abused you, and Julie is smart enough to understand.”

“Then what is she running from?  Why is she so determined to throw away her talents?  She has to be punishing me.”  Maggie slammed the empty wineglass on the coffee table and continued to stare out the window in the wild hope that Julie’s car might turn into the driveway.

“I think you’re taking it too personally, and you can’t rid yourself of all that Catholic guilt.  There’s no doubt that Julie had to be hurt when you got a divorce, but it’s happened to other children, and they didn’t let it ruin their lives.”  Jed stood up and took Maggie’s hand in his. “Now come on.  Let’s go upstairs and watch the news in bed.  Maybe it’s not as bad as she said.  She may have been in shock, not remembered things clearly.”

The newscaster, an animated young man with a perpetual smile on his face, seemed thrilled to have a local disaster to report:

“A fatal accident occurred tonight on US 140, west of Lewiston.  Apparently, the driver lost control of his late-model Porsche and it went off the road, tumbling down a hill where a fiery explosion took place.  Police were called to the scene about ten o’clock.  The name of the victim is being withheld pending notification of relatives.”

The charred crumpled car was spotlighted, and ambulance drivers were shown carting away what appeared to be a corpse.  Maggie sat up, stunned to think that Julie had been in such an accident and survived.  The newscaster’s voice interrupted her thoughts.  “Apparently, the victim was alone and there were no other cars involved.”

“Alone?”  Maggie echoed his words and turned to look at Jed.  “Why did she run away?  Do you think she was driving and panicked?”

“Not Julie.  If she was to blame, and there was something she could have done to help, she would have done it.  That is, unless she was in shock.”

“But I saw her, she was sane and lucid.  Where did she go?”

Jed shook his head. “You’re probably going to have to make some kind of a decision here.  You’ll have to call the police if Julie doesn’t come home by tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t come home?”  Maggie felt the panic rising in her chest.  She was too frightened even to cry.  “What do you mean?  Of course she’ll come home.  Why wouldn’t she?”

Jed said, “Let’s turn off this TV and try to get some rest.”  He had an incredible ability to fall asleep when the world around him was falling apart.  Was it strength, or simple denial?  On the other hand, Julie’s father was a man whose manic energy often kept him up all night.  Maggie knew she had consciously chosen a second husband who was a total opposite of her first--which could be why Julie found him so hard to accept.

But sleep was not an option for Maggie.  She lay in the darkness, watching as the wind and moonlight sent leafy shadows dancing across the bedroom walls.  Hope surged each time a car passed on the road outside, then faded as it failed to stop.  As soon as she was sure Jed was asleep, Maggie got up and went downstairs to sit on the sofa.

Hours went by.  The rain finally stopped, and there was only the slow drip of water coming from the gutters along the porch.  The moon and the stars were hidden, but Maggie kept her eyes on the wet pavement that glistened under the streetlight, longing for Julie’s car to appear. Finally, she saw the gray light of dawn and lay down. She awakened to see Jed standing over her, holding out a cup of steaming coffee.

“Careful,” Maggie said.  “You might burn yourself.”  As always, she was aware of his virility and lack of self-consciousness.  Jed’s farm upbringing had given him heavy arms corded with muscles and the firm body of a man much younger than his fifty-five years.  The fact that his chest was covered with silvery black hairs was not something he tried to conceal; he was totally comfortable with his body.  At the moment his dark brown eyes were studying her intently and were full of compassion.

“I suppose you’ve been up all night watching for her.”

“Not
all
night.  Last time I looked it was four o’clock.”

“Surely you won’t try and go to work.”

“I have to.  We’re short already.”  The nursing unit at the hospital to which Maggie was assigned was chronically understaffed.  Working in the transitional care unit wasn’t exactly a plum assignment.  Watching old people fade away wasn’t as uplifting as working on the floor below where beautiful babies were introduced to the world every day.

“You’re entitled to an occasional sick day.”

“But I’m not sick.”

“Yes, you are, you’re totally stressed out.  You don’t have to keep pushing yourself, Maggie, you have me to fall back on now.”

“Maybe you’re right about calling in.  If I go to work, I won’t be able to do anything all day about finding her.”  Maggie had finished half of her coffee, and the caffeine was clearing her mind.

“Find her?  How do you propose to do that?  You and I both know that if Julie wants to disappear, she will.  From what you told me last night, she was dead set on getting away and she didn’t want the police involved.”

Maggie drained the last dregs of coffee from her cup and stood up.  “I’m going up to her room,” she said, “there might be some clue there.”

She walked into Julie’s room and faced a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions: tenderness, panic, fear and anger.  The room still smelled of Julie’s shampoo and the fragrance of her soft skin.  Her rumpled bed looked like it might still be warm, as if Julie had just arisen.  Books and magazines were stacked on the dresser, piles of papers and notebooks littered the floor.  Julie was always studying, reading, writing--what, Maggie was never quite sure.  But she had always respected her daughter’s privacy and never given into the temptation to go through her things.

Now, she might have to violate that policy.

Maggie looked for the tiny cloth purse that Julie carried.  It was small enough to shove into most pockets and usually contained only lipstick, driver’s license, and a meager supply of cash.  The purse was not in its usual spot on top of the night table.  Maggie turned on the table lamp.  Beside it were stacks of Julie’s favorite magazines:
National Geographic,
The New Yorker,
and
Science.
  On top of the magazines Maggie noticed a torn envelope with Julie’s small cryptic handwriting with a goodbye note.  Cursing the fact that her glasses were downstairs, she squinted and held it under the lamp.  For one exhilarating nanosecond she imagined that the answers to all her questions would be in these few penciled sentences.  But her optimism was short lived.  Julie had told her nothing at all.

She yanked open the drawer of the night table where Julie kept a journal with a swirl of bright colors on its cover, and her passport.  Both gone.  There was no use investigating any further.  Julie had taken whatever secrets she carried in her heart, along with her passport.

Jed came to the door. “Find anything?”

Maggie held up the envelope.  “Just this, a note saying she’s leaving and not to worry. And her passport’s gone.”

“That should be a relief; at least you know she had some sort of plan.”

“A plan that involves leaving the country.”

“So what?  She’s lived all over Europe.  The girl’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she’s proven that.”

“But she was broke when she came back.  She had thought she might get a scholarship or some financial aid if she got into med school, but I don’t think she had more than a couple of hundred dollars in the bank.  That’s why she was working for Kevin.  Something’s terribly wrong, and yet I’m afraid to go to the police right now.”

“Then you’ll have to resign yourself to just sitting tight and waiting to hear something.”

“No, I don’t have to, there’s something else I can do.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve thought about this all night. I can hire a private detective to look for Julie and find out about Kevin.  I never thought much of him, and he certainly wasn’t Julie’s type.”

“A private detective?  I’m not sure they even have one in Lewiston.”

Maggie went into the bedroom for a phone book.  “Look here.” She pointed to a small advertisement in the yellow pages:
Basinki Investigations. Licensed. Bonded. Insured. Confidential Consultations.
“See,” Maggie pressed her finger on the advertisement and looked at Jed. “There’s one right here in town, and believe it or not, I went to elementary school with this guy.”

“I always thought private investigators were something you read about in detective novels that take place in L.A. or New York.  Even when Connie was running around with her mysterious lover, it never occurred to me to hire one.”  Jed turned away from Maggie and watched a squirrel nibbling at a piece of corn on the feeder he’d placed on the deck.

Maggie said, “It does seem a bit melodramatic for ordinary people like us.”

Jed tilted his head and grinned. “I guess you’re right. A college professor and a nurse. We’re not exactly the types to be involved in nefarious schemes, and the thought of hiring someone to find my wife in bed with another man would have seemed tawdry.”