Take the Money: Romantic Suspense in Costa Rica (5 page)

The corridor leading to her room was open-aired, filled with glossy plants, trees, and small spotlights strategically placed among the foliage. Julie was looking forward to a gentle tropical breeze to lull her to sleep.  But a blast of air-conditioned air hit her face when she opened the door.

She tried to open the window but it was sealed shut, covered with iron bars.  Defense against theft appeared to be a serious concern in this country.  How safe was her bag of cash?  First thing tomorrow, she’d need to find a bank.

The smell of her grime was getting to her, and she longed for a shower.  But first she wanted to re-evaluate her resources.  She emptied her shoes and pockets, then dumped the contents of the backpack on her bed.  Carefully she smoothed and stacked the bills and began to count.  Just slightly less than $59,000 lay against the flowered cotton bedspread, mixed in with her dingy underwear and T-shirts.  She stared at it for several minutes, thoughts whirling through her head. Who did this money really belong to? Kevin had given it to her. But was it his to give?

She was beginning to feel like a bag lady.  She’d tried to sponge away the dirt on her face and arms in various restrooms, but she knew her skin had to be coated with layers of unfriendly bacteria.  Right now she was craving soap and water more than anything.

The white-tiled bathroom was piled with fluffy towels, and a gold-nozzle shower looked promising, but based on Julie’s experience in other foreign countries, she wasn’t expecting much more than a tepid trickle.  To her delight, a spray of steaming water splashed across her chest, and she lathered herself with the hotel’s perfumed soap and shampoo from Paris.  She had never traveled first class before, but she had to admit, she could get used to this.  It was a good fifteen minutes before she stepped out, toweled off, and pulled a clean T-shirt over her head.  She pushed aside most of the downy pillows, climbed between yellow satiny sheets, and sank into bed.

The telephone rang.  Julie came out of her dreamy lassitude and went into the alarm mode that had become so familiar during the past several hours. Who could it be?  The desk, perhaps, asking if she was satisfied with her accommodations? Her pals at the casino?  For a generous tip, the registration clerk might have gladly provided her room number to anyone.  Reluctantly, she picked it up and answered in a low voice.

“Yes?”

“Senorita
Talbot?
”

“
Si
.”

There was a pause.  “
Buenos Noches
.”

Julie said, “
Gracias
.”

No response. After a few seconds she heard a gentle click and the phone went dead.  She sat for a moment, listening to the throbbing of her own heartbeat against the receiver.

Nerve endings taut, Julie threw down the phone, ran to the window and yanked open the heavy draperies.  The pale golden glow of torch lights beamed out across the meticulously maintained lawn where an armed security guard sauntered back and forth in front of the complex. Why should she be frightened? Probably just the desk clerk had called.  She pulled the draperies shut and went back to bed.

When she awakened, the room was so dark she couldn’t see her own outstretched hands.  If there had been more phone calls, she hadn’t heard them.  Her neck was stiff and she felt like she’d spent the night under a steam roller.  With aching legs she inched her way toward the sliver of light to the right of her bed.  Shafts of bright sunshine sent a stab of pain through her head as she looked out the window.

Cars and taxicabs moved along the circular driveway while busloads of tourists swarmed in and out of bright vans near the hotel entrance. Was it morning or afternoon?   The room had no clock, but she found her wristwatch and was startled to see that it was eleven a.m.  She had to get going.  Checkout was noon, and even though she could easily afford another night, it didn’t seem right to blow Kevin’s blood money this way.

Packing took only minutes and Julie was out of there.  The breezeway leading to the lobby was filled with the smell of coffee, sausages and fruit.  She was hungry.  Dare she risk going into the dining room, possibly running into Bud, the elder Americans, or the high rollers at the roulette table?  And who had called her room last night?  She hesitated, nervously cracking her knuckles as she scanned the tables.

“Alone?” the maitre d’ stood at the entryway, holding a menu.

“Yes.” Julie followed him to a small table near the swimming pool.  She thought about ordering a bagel, but the breakfast buffet--with baskets of fresh tropical fruits, sweet rolls, breads, and gleaming chafers filled with tamales, black beans, eggs, sausage, bacon, and rice--was too tempting to resist.

When she’d finished and the waiter came with a carafe, she asked in Spanish if there was a bus into San Jose.

“Just a city bus,” he apologized.  “Most of our guests take a taxi into town.  The attendants at the front door can get you one.”

“But where do you catch the bus?” she persisted.

“A look of alarm flashed across his face.  “You wouldn’t want the bus, it’s crowded and dirty.  Very hot, no air conditioning.”

“But supposing I do take it.  Where do I go?”

“Across the road, out in front.   You’ll see people waiting.”

“Thanks.” Julie held out her cup. “I’ll have a bit more coffee, please. It’s delicious.”

“No better coffee than here in Costa Rica,” he agreed.  “And where are you from?”

“United States.  Couldn’t you tell?”

He narrowed his dark eyes and stroked his mustache, studying her intently.   “Usually I can.  But you could be from just about anywhere, I guess.  Will you be staying long in our country?”

Julie thought a moment, not sure of what she could say without arousing curiosity.  “Just a week or so,” she said

“Well, then.  Enjoy your stay.”  He gave her an innocent smile, but she worried he was suspicious, as though the money in her backpack was sending out electronic signals.  She tried to calm herself, savoring the rich, dark coffee she hadn’t enjoyed since Europe.  Hoosiers liked their coffee at half strength, her stepfather included.  And of course, Mom had to cater to Jed, didn’t she?  Although why, Julie couldn’t imagine, unless it had to do with their love life.

Ceiling fans twirled lazily overhead, and a breeze blew in from the patio where sun worshipers lay sprawled on cushioned lounges.  There was something repellent about the spoiled-looking women with their bleached hair, lizard-brown skin, brightly painted toenails, and diamonds flashing in the sunlight.  Julie felt a sudden urge to flee.

She waited fifteen minutes before realizing it was necessary to ask for a bill.  Apparently one could spend the entire day sitting and sipping coffee.  The sumptuous breakfast was only about seven dollars; she paid the cashier and threw a five-dollar bill on the table.  Not smart if she wanted to avoid attention, but she knew how good it felt to receive a generous tip.

She slung her bag across her back and hurried down the hall, past the lobby with its flank of doormen, across the plush green lawn, and out into the real world of Costa Rica.

* * *

Several people on the hotel service staff waited for the bus, still in their fancy gold-trimmed uniforms.  As Julie joined them she saw the gangly form of last night’s van driver sprinting across the road.  David’s knobby knees stuck out from under his short pants as though his legs had grown too fast for his muscles to catch up.  He stopped in front of her, taking long nervous drags on his cigarette while his bony elbows flapped in the air.

“
Hola
.” He grinned, displaying large straight teeth, faintly yellowed with nicotine stains.

“
Hola
,” she answered, surprised he hadn’t said “Hi,” since he seemed to favor North American slang.

“You’re leaving the hotel?” He asked in English.

“Yes, I’d rather stay in San Jose.”  The bright sun was hot on Julie’s face.  She shaded her eyes and saw a large, brownish-orange structure rising in the distance against the tropical blue sky.  “What’s that building?” she asked.

“That’s a shopping mall,” he said in a flat voice.

“What’s in there?”

“Shops.  Restaurants. A couple of banks.”

Julie’s feet were swollen in her hiking boots and sweat was running down her legs.  She needed a pair of shorts and some sandals.  “I’m going over there, I guess,” she said. “Bye.”

David followed her. “You can’t walk,” he cautioned.  “You have to cross the highway, and it’s dangerous.”

“But other people are crossing,” she said, even though it looked like a hazardous undertaking.  There were no stop lights and the speeding traffic seemed endless.  Young men and women stood at the side of the road, then made daredevil dashes in front of the oncoming cars.

“Those kids are fools. If you’re going to the mall, you should get a taxi.”

“If they can do it, I can.”

He threw up his hands in mock despair.  “Okay, I can’t let you do this alone.”

Before she could reply, he took her hand and dragged her across the highway.  Her heart raced as cars and trucks zoomed toward them; she felt like a drunk staggering across the racetrack during the Indy 500 as David yanked her through an infinitesimal gap between cars. A small van came so close she could see the driver’s dark scowl as her hair flew against its side window.  In seconds, they were on the other side, and she stood gasping for air, clutching her stomach.

“That wasn’t too bad,” she managed to say, although her voice was quavering.

“Now, will you pay attention to what I tell you?” he asked. 

“Look,” she said, wiping her damp flushed face, “I’ve made you go out of your way.  But I’m all right, and I can find my way around, I’m sure.”

“I don’t mind walking with you,” he said, as though he had all the time in the world.

They were inside the building now.  Unlike U.S.  malls where the food courts were off on a side corridor, the first signs Julie saw almost made her laugh.  Burger King.  Taco Bell.  Kentucky Fried Chicken.  All North American fast food franchises incongruously manned by dark-haired, Spanish speaking Ticos. As they neared the end of the court, she stopped for a moment in front of the great, gold merry go-round that dominated the middle of the ground floor.  Next to it, a steep escalator curved upward toward a brilliant skylight.

“Is that a bank up there?” she asked

“Yes.  But you can get money changed anywhere.”

Changing money wasn’t what Julie had in mind.  She had to find a safe spot for her cash, and she certainly didn’t want David tagging along. She tried a new approach.  “I’m shopping for some personal items,” she said.  “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I’ll be more comfortable by myself.”

Color appeared in his cheeks and he ducked his head.  “Of course, I understand.  I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Julie touched his arm.  “You’ve been a great help, David.  I appreciate it.  Really.  But I’ll be fine now.”  She backed away and accelerated her pace, even though he seemed reluctant to let her out of his sight.

“Where are you staying?” he called.

“Downtown.” She stepped on the rapidly moving escalator and was halfway up to the second floor before she yelled down to his upturned face.  “Bye! Thanks for everything.”  She wanted to believe he was only interested in being helpful, but in the back of her mind, she knew that friendly strangers were probably best avoided.

Two security guards barred her entry at the bank door.  They wore dark blue pants, crisp white shirts, and lethal-looking pistols in holsters at their waists.

“What is your business here,
Senorita
?” one of them asked.  He was strikingly attractive with a glossy mustache, slick black hair, and olive skin. But he was not in a flirtatious mood.

“I wish to make a deposit, open an account,” she said.

The man seemed as friendly as a hungry Rottweiler. “We’ll need to see your passport.” 

“Of course.”  She fished it out of her pocket, feeling the weight of his steady gaze.  Did she look suspicious, or was this routine?

A muscle quivered in the guard’s cheek as he checked the passport, studying the pages stamped with the symbols of every foreign country she’d been through in the past two years.  His eyes darted back and forth, comparing her picture to her face.  “Very well,” he said, nodding at his partner to move aside.   “You may enter.”

It appeared to be a branch bank with a small waiting area and only one service window. Another customer was getting money exchanged, so Julie had a few minutes to look behind the counter. A man and a woman--both dressed in navy blue suits --sat at desks, working with calculators. Julie had expected to see bright colors and flowered shirts everywhere, but it seemed that serious business people wore dark tailored clothes.

The cashier, a young woman with a round face and hair pulled back severely in a bun, looked at her with a bored expression.

“I’d like to open a checking account,” Julie said.

“Open an account?”  The woman’s eyes drifted down, taking in Julie’s T-shirt and jeans.  “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not authorized.  One of my superiors will help you.”

“Fine.”

The cashier summoned a man who stared at Julie with eagle-like intensity, then opened a gate admitting her to the inner sanctum.  As he did so, he cocked his head toward the front door.  The guard who’d checked her passport stepped inside quickly, his hand on his gun. Did they think she was a bank robber?  How could they possibly imagine anyone would have the guts to try and overpower such militant surveillance?

The officer introduced himself as Mr. Ortega.   Julie ran her tongue over dry lips as she reached inside her bag for the stacks she’d sorted out before she left this morning.  She tried to appear calm, clenching her fists to keep her icy fingers from quivering.  No one spoke. The only sounds were the brassy strains of the calliope from the merry-go-round drifting upstairs.  Three pairs of eyes were on her.  She took a deep breath, drew out the packet and laid it on the table.  “I believe you’ll find fifty-seven thousand American dollars there,” she said

Ortega adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses across the beak of his nose.  With the impassive look of a professional gambler, he picked up the packet and began counting.

No one moved.  When he’d finished, he put the money back down and tented his hands, looking first at Julie, then at the guard.

“Excuse me please. I need to check these bills.”   Ortega disappeared into a back room.  The guard stood blocking the gate, the pistol on his left hip inches away from Julie’s nose.

She could feel the blood draining from her face, and her stomach was in knots.  If the money was counterfeit, she’d end up in a Costa Rican jail, or maybe they’d send her back to the U.S.  Why had she been so foolish? According to her watch, only ten minutes had passed when Ortega returned, during which time Julie had pictured herself growing old and gray as she languished in prison.

But Ortega was extending a talon-like hand for her to clasp in a feeble attempt at a handshake.  In an oily voice, he said, “We welcome you as a customer,
Senorita
.   Now, your passport please, so that we can fill out the forms.”

Feeling like the top of her head was about to explode, Julie gripped the side of her chair to keep from pitching forward.  They had taken the money.   She now had $57,000 under her own name.

The atmosphere was buoyant, as if helium-filled balloons had been released from their mooring.  Everyone in the bank was smiling so much that Julie half expected someone to produce a bottle of champagne and propose a toast.  The guards bowed as she left, her bankbook comfortably tucked inside her money belt, along with her passport.

“
Que te vaya bien!
”

“
Gracias
.”

The backpack wasn’t noticeably lighter, but Julie’s spirits soared to think she’d gotten rid of most the money.  She’d kept some cash in case she needed to make a quick getaway.  South America, maybe.   Right now, she needed to get her bearings and try to determine whether or not she was being followed.

She found a pair of cotton slacks, a short sleeved T- shirt and sandals in the shops beside the bank, then changed in the public restroom.   Her hiking boots and jeans were filthy and made her bag heavy, but she decided to keep them.  She could lighten her load as soon as she found a room in San Jose.  Feeling elated and finally unafraid for the first time since she’d arrived, she found her way to the escalator and impatiently skipped steps as she hurried down, alighting next to the merry-go-round.  Anxious to get out of the noisy mall with its overpowering smell of burned grease coming from the food stands, she decided to splurge on a taxi when she spotted David standing next to the front door. 

Damn.  What was it with him?  Couldn’t he find a girlfriend among all of the luscious Costa Rican girls who meandered through the shops with skintight jeans, spiked heels and spaghetti-strapped tank tops that accentuated their melon breasts?

So far Julie hadn’t seen a single woman with breasts as small as her own.  By Costa Rican standards, she was a skinny, lanky spinster.  So wake up, girl, she said to herself.  He wants something besides your body.  She searched for another exit and found one behind the KFC outlet, then ran to the driveway and got into a waiting taxicab.

“How much for a ride into San Jose?” she asked. 

The driver gave her a quizzical look, so she repeated her question in Spanish and he answered rapidly.  “Seven dollars, one way.”

Julie had no idea whether this was fair.  She’d never navigated in a foreign country without first absorbing everything she could read from
Lonely Planet
or
Fodor.
  But ditching David was more important than haggling over a few dollars, so she told the driver to take her into the city.  It was an old cab with cracked windows, littered floor and a lumpy back seat covered with bright floral slipcovers overlaid with clear plastic. A wifely touch, no doubt. 

Julie heard a chirping sound coming from the front seat.  “What’s that I hear?” she asked.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind.” The driver turned to look at her with doleful eyes. “Just some chickens for my children.”

“You must live outside the city.”

“No, we have a house up north.”

“But you have a yard for the chickens?”

“A small yard.  But the chickens will stay in the house.  After the children tire of them, they will provide food.”

Julie tried to imagine what it would be like to eat a pet, but since she’d had two strips of bacon at breakfast, who was she to judge?

“I’m looking for a hotel downtown,” she said, still avoiding English. “Any recommendations?”

“Many good American hotels.  Holiday Inn.  Mariott.”

It obviously didn’t occur to him that she might want to stay in a Costa Rican establishment. “Just take me to the center of town,” she said.  “Then, I’ll have a look around.”

“You should be careful,” he cautioned.  “Many Nicaraguans in the square.  Hang onto your bag.  Let me take you to the Gran Hotel.”

“Seems like I’ve heard of that place.”

“Yes.  It’s been pictured in some movies.  It’s very famous.”  They were coming into the city now: noisy, tumultuous, with cars and trucks belching diesel fumes that filled the skies with an eye-stinging haze.  The architecture was a disappointment. Most of the flat, box-like buildings had a North American appearance that gave no hint of ancient history or culture.