A Second Chance at Murder (11 page)

“An investigator has to follow all leads,” I said.

“All
reasonable
leads,” he agreed.

Anger surged in my belly and I fought the urge to stand up and scream, “Find Scott! He's not a killer!” but instead I balled my fists. “It's a reasonable lead,” I said.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I'll ask around about Miguel.”

“Thank you,” I said.

He glanced at the others singing and dancing, then asked, “Have you received any more messages from Scott?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you had?”

I suddenly felt chewed up and spit out. “Yes.”

He stepped away from me, a sad expression on his face. “I have work in the morning. I hope you enjoy the fiestas.”

T
he following morning the crew's bus was waiting for us outside of the B&B. The bus billowed smoke into the hot air, creating a thick layer of smog in front of the otherwise pristine driveway. Dad gripped my arm as we boarded the bus.

“You don't think it's another hike, do you? I don't think my head can take it,” he said.

“I told you not to go overboard on the whiskey!”

“I had whiskey?”

Laughing, I said, “Look, I can only carry you so far.”

Double D was already seated on the bus. Each girl was holding her head and looking miserable. They turned around and eyed us as we took the seats behind them.

“How y'all feeling this morning?” DeeCee asked.

Dad groaned. “Worse for the wear, but I wouldn't
trade it for anything. I had such a great time singing with you girls. You are amazing!”

Daisy perked up and rooted around the purse on her lap, which seemed to double as a suitcase, she pulled out a can of hairspray and then a small vile. “Gordon, did you have too much to drink last night? I have some aspirin.”

Dad was happy to accept the pills and eagerly popped them into his mouth.

I leaned in toward him. “There's no shame in losing.”

Dad quirked a brow at me. “What are you saying?”

“If we lose, I can search for Scott.”

Dad squinted at me. “You don't believe that email, do you?”

“I don't know what to believe.”

Dad pressed his hand against mine. “The authorities aren't going to let us leave Spain until they figure this thing out. Don't worry, Georgia, Scott is going to turn up. He better have a pretty good explanation or I'm going to wring his neck.”

I looked out the window of the small bus. The Pyrenees hovered over the town like two soldiers guarding the night. I wanted so desperately to return to the mountains. To return to the scene of the crime.

What was there that I hadn't been able to see?

There were answers there, I knew it.

Victoria and Parker clomped onto the bus. They didn't speak to us and definitely had their game face on. The driver fired up the bus.

“What about Cooper and Todd?” Daisy asked.

DeeCee rubbed her temples. “I think they must have already started, right? Cooper told me he had to get up at four in the morning, because their leg of the race started at six a.m.”

Dad moaned. “Now I'm happy you gave him that chalice,” he joked. “Nothing gets me out of bed at four a.m.” He turned to me and we said together, “Except fishing.”

The bus turned onto a narrow street in the center of town. We drove slightly past a bakery and parked. A heavenly scent wafted through the air and there was a line of people waiting in front.

DeeCee poked Daisy in the ribs. “We have an hour to kill before we get to start, let's grab some coffee, and I need me a hangover donut!”

Dad's stomach growled and I had to pull on him by the collar to keep him with me, as Double D stalked off toward the bakery. Around the corner we saw our crew positioned around the familiar blue tarp. Harris was standing at the top of the tarp chatting with Becca. Behind them was a colorful mural, which would have been lovely, save for the black paint scrawled across the faces of the people in the painting. Cheryl was standing off to the side of the mural talking to another crew. I realized it was a Spanish media team. This must be the mural the town was trying to raise money to restore.

“Bless her heart, Cheryl actually listened to Sergio and is trying to help!” I said.

Dad snorted, a wicked smile on his face. “Let's not
get carried away. Probably she's helping because she thinks it'll get her what she wants a bit faster.”

I laughed. “I think you're getting to know Cheryl pretty well.”

Harris perked up when he saw us approach, and Kyle stepped out to adjust Harris's makeup.

Victoria and Parker jogged over to the tarp, but Dad and I lagged behind.

“No matter what. We're not separating today, okay, Georgia? I don't trust Victoria. I'd rather lose the contest than you, and that's not a joke.”

I squeezed his hand. “Got it, Daddy. Don't worry!”

We lined up in front of Harris, who exploded to life with his over-the-top TV voice. “Welcome to round two of
Expedition Improbable
! Where nothing can stop you but yourself!” He launched into a brief recap of yesterday's events for the benefit of the audience, then said, “Cooper and Todd have already begun their journey, but don't lose hope. There's plenty of time for everyone to catch them, because in this game you never know what can happen.” He made his fingers into pistols and shot air at us. “Expect the unexpected!”

“For this leg of the race,” Harris continued, “you will have to tour the old town of Jaca, the
casco histórico
, in search of a clue that will take you on a wild, er, dare I say, wet ride. Like yesterday, you'll begin the next challenge with whatever time advantage you secure today.”

Harris glanced at his gold wristwatch. “And with that, the team in second place, Victoria and Parker, get
ready to begin in five, four, three, two, one.” Harris held his arms up in a dramatic gesture.

Victoria and Parker exchanged confused looks and tore off running down the street, their cameraman following them.

Miguel panned his camera over toward us and filmed us standing on the tarp as Harris said, “Georgia, Gordon, you'll have to wait exactly four minutes and seven seconds before you can start. So please, let me take the time to direct your attention to this historic mural.”

Dad and I stood in front of the vandalized painting as Harris prattled on, giving attention to the historic value of the painting and also the efforts the town was making in order to restore it. He even cited a website where viewers could donate to the cause.

Sergio would be happy indeed.

Harris turned his attention back to the camera. “Georgia, Gordon, get ready to begin in five, four, three, two, one.” Harris shot his arms up in the same dramatic gesture as he'd given just a few minutes earlier.

Dad shrugged and grabbed my arm. “Let's go.”

We strolled down the cobblestone streets toward the old shopping district. Miguel filming us looking into the store windows. The displays boasted handmade leather purses and shoes, along with elaborate dresses and the latest fashions.

“I like Spain,” I said, surprising myself. “I wish we had time to shop.”

Dad smiled. “I wish we had time to eat! Do you want to go back to that bakery we saw?”

“Focus! You can't be thinking about your stomach right now. You should be thinking about the clue!”

On the corner was a tavern where
jamón serrano
, the dry-cured Spanish hams, hung in the window. Dad put a hand to the glass and let out a soft puppy dog moan.

Miguel chuckled despite himself.

“They're not open yet, Dad. Let's keep moving.”

As Dad and I continued down the street, I spotted an abrupt movement from one of the doorways up ahead. Victoria and Parker were huddling, trying to hide from us. Suddenly they burst down the street in a mad hustle.

I ran after them. “What doorway did they come from?” I yelled to Dad.

He jogged behind me. “The third one on the right, I think.”

“Check inside! See what's there,” I said, over my shoulder. I chased Victoria and Parker into a square, where they hailed a cab.

Darn it!

They had the clue!

I ran back to find Dad and Miguel, but intersected them in the alley. Dad was out of breath, but handed me a note. “We have to catch a cab! Here are the directions.”

“Come on,” I said. “Let's get to the square.”

Dad and I hurried to the spot Victoria and Parker had just vacated and waited for another taxi to pick us up. I reviewed the slip of paper,
Grab a cab. Give the driver these directions to the Río Aragón.

“Ah! A cab,” Dad said. “Becca is so nice not to make me run a marathon today!”

I laughed. “Well, we don't know what we'll have to do when we get to the river,” I warned.

“Hopefully not swim,” Dad said.

A cab turned the corner and we hailed it, madly jumping up and down. The cab pulled to a stop in front of us.

“I'm sure glad this isn't New York,” Dad said, “where they just ignore you.”

I laughed as I piled into the car. Miguel and Dad followed suit. I handed the driver the directions and he tore off. The cab driver was talkative, but spoke only Spanish. Miguel put down his camera and chatted amicably with him, seemingly about the race and the show.

When there was a lull in their conversation, I touched Miguel's shoulder and he glanced back at me. “I saw you last night going to that meeting.”

He smiled. “Oh? Did you? I didn't know.”

“I would have called out to you, but I was shy. It was a pretty big meeting,” I said, gently fishing for information.

He nodded, not taking the bait. “Did you enjoy the fiestas? Will you go out again tonight?”

“Not me,” Dad burst out. “I think I'll stuff my face with paella and then go to bed with a hot-water bottle.”

“What about Cheryl?” I joked, poking Dad in the ribs. “She'll want to dance.”

Dad waved a hand around. “She can go. You, too. Have fun. I really don't mind being left alone. My ego can take it.”

We could see Victoria and Parker's cab ahead of us. “Can you overtake that taxi?” I asked the driver.

He didn't respond, so I was about to ask Miguel to translate, when the cab in front of us suddenly swerved dangerously into our lane. Our driver slammed the brakes and yanked the car to the right, directly into a mailbox. The right front tire popped in a dramatic flourish. The driver let out a stream of what I could only imagine were Spanish expletives.

“I really don't like that Victoria girl,” Dad said.

“Is everyone all right?” I asked.

Dad and Miguel nodded as we all tumbled out of the cab. Miguel filmed the damage on the car while he soothed the driver, who looked like he was about to have a stroke. I surveyed the area. We were now in a more modern part of Jaca. Bigger buildings surrounded us and people dressed in business suits rushed past. Almost immediately a motorcycle cop pulled over to take the driver's statement.

“Now what?” Dad asked. “Do we catch another cab? It doesn't look like there are many in this area.”

We both looked at Miguel for help. He was filming us and couldn't speak, so instead he indicated for us to walk up the street. When we crested the hill, I saw what looked like a five-star hotel with a fleet of cabs waiting in a turnstile. Dad and I picked up the pace, ready to get in the next cab.

We pulled open the door to the first cab in the waiting line and piled into the back. As Miguel loaded his camera into the front seat, I turned to check out the hotel.

There was a doorman dressed in a red uniform, he held the door open for a couple exiting the building. I realized I recognized the couple.

Sergio and Montserrat stood in the doorway of the hotel. What were they doing here? Were they investigating a new clue? One that could possibly lead to finding Scott?

The cab driver pulled away from the curb and as we merged into traffic I saw the name of the hotel in neon lights.

My breath caught.

Spanish Moon . . .

I
said nothing on the ride out of town. We followed the mighty
R
í
o
Arag
ó
n
north, meandering through some off-roads for about thirty minutes. As we drove toward the Pyrenees, the roads turned to dirt and the ride became more bumpy. The bumpier the road, the quieter I got.

Spanish Moon.

That was the title of the book Scott's mom said he'd been working on when he visited Spain. What were Sergio and Montserrat doing at the hotel? Could Scott be staying there?

When we arrived at a grassy clearing, the cab pulled over and dropped us off. A makeshift pole with a clear plastic box mounted to it was visible from where we stood. On the pole was a flag with the show's bull's-eye emblem. Dad and I hiked over to the box and pulled out the next note.

The note read:
Find your swimsuit and brave the rapids to the finish line. Be nice, you might have to share!

Dad and I frantically looked around and found a trail that led toward the river. Along the way, there were several swimsuits hanging on the trees. Some of the suits were revealing bikinis, which I'd just as soon leave for Double D. I selected the most conservative offering, a one-piece suit in marine blue. Dad opted out of the Speedos and luckily found a pair of flowered boarder shorts.

“They are so you,” I said, laughing.

Dad grinned. “I know those evil producers probably were hoping I'd select the Speedos, but hey, maybe Parker wants them.”

“Victoria and Parker have to be ahead of us, right?”

Dad shrugged. “With any luck, maybe their taxi blew a flat.”

“Maybe their raft will blow a flat,” I said.

Dad and I hiked along the narrow trail, with Miguel documenting our every move. It wasn't long before Dad broke out in a sweat.

“When do we hit the water?” Dad asked. “It's going to feel good today. What a scorcher!”

Soon, the trail bottomed out to a sandy riverbank. Victoria was on the bank already in her swimsuit and life jacket. Parker was seated on a boulder with his back to the river, the cameraman taping him alone, presumably for his confessional. At some point, we were supposed to pour our hearts out privately to the camera.
Well, as privately as you could when you knew your message would be broadcast in front of millions of viewers.

Victoria scampered to her feet when she saw us. “You finally got here, huh?”

“No thanks to you,” Dad said. “What kind of stunt was that you pulled in the cab?”

Victoria batted her eyelashes at Dad. “I don't know what you mean, those cabbies here in Spain can't drive worth a hill of beans! Anyway, you haven't missed much. Parker and I got here a few minutes ago. One raft floated down and we couldn't reach it in time. So here we are.”

I gritted my teeth, recalling the note:
Be nice, you might have to share!

That was Cheryl's way of making sure we all got onto the same raft together. That would definitely make for more drama, ergo more ratings.

Miguel pointed to a grassy area off to the left that was carpeted with wildflowers. “That would make a nice background, Gordon. Let's get your confessional.”

Dad and Miguel tromped off, leaving me alone with Victoria. She scooped a handful of pebbles from the bank and began to throw them in the river, one by one, doing her best to avoid me.

“Do you know how to raft?” I asked over the roar of the river.

“Sure. I've been down the Gallatin a few times, always with a guide though,” Victoria said. “You?”

“One time down the Sacramento. I don't think I
remember anything and I'm sure Dad's never been. He's liable to topple the raft on us.”

Victoria snorted. “Well, if you hadn't said that, I'd suggest an alliance.”

Right!

“I thought you already had one,” I answered.

Her eyebrows shot up and she feigned innocence. “Really, no. Who would we have an alliance with?”

“Cooper. You guys are always together—”

She lowered her eyes and I could see she was hiding something, calculating how much I might know. “He's come onto me a few times, but I don't think it's wise to get all caught up in a romance here. Do you?”

I wasn't going to touch that with a ten-foot pole. Who was I to give dating advice? The woman who found her love match on reality TV only to be subsequently dumped on the next show. Ridiculous!

“Cooper would make a great alliance, he's tough competition. Whoever aligns with him will likely land in the final two.”

Victoria shook her head. “Todd's not tough competition though. He's the weak link.”

I shrugged. “Parker and Todd basically told me they were forming an alliance.”

“No!” Victoria said, protesting a bit too much. She gestured toward her brother down the way a bit. “Parker wants to get on board with you and your dad.”

“Really?” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Is that why you ran us off the road?”

She laughed and put a hand over her heart. “Well,
I
didn't run you off the road. The cabbie just sort of misunderstood me. Anyway, you did great on that monastery hike. I'm sorry. I kind of lost my mind up there. I had no idea you were so close to the edge.”

I didn't mention that I didn't believe a word of what she was dishing out. A confession like that might kill her forthrightness.

“So Parker wants to form an alliance with us, but what about you?” I probed.

She rolled her shoulders almost coquettishly, a gesture I figured she refined at many a late-night party. “I don't know what to think. I want to win. I need the money. And honestly you seem like you have an inside advantage—you've been on a show before and you're friends with the producer. But your heart doesn't seem into the competition since your boyfriend killed that girl.”

EXT. RIVERBANK DAY

Parker is looking into the camera. He is unshaven with several days' beard growth on his face. He wears yellow swim trunks and a life jacket. He is seated on a boulder with a rushing river behind him.

PARKER

(
smiles
) Hello! I'm Parker Wilson. One of the contestants on
Expedition Improbable
.
I'm competing with my sister, Victoria. Truthfully, she can be a bit of a handful and I'm nervous she's going to mess up this opportunity for us. Because winning right now would be amazing. I have a couple bills . . . well, let's just say, I need to take care of those. And Vicky, she's got her student loans hanging over her neck. But I'm not worried about winning. We're making alliances with the right folks and keeping the other competition at bay. Our plan is to be in the final two, then we'll have to knock out the other team. Right now, Cooper and Todd think we're in an alliance with them. (
shrugs)
It's unfortunate, but, you know, we'll have to stab those guys in the back. Cooper's gonna be too tough to beat. So, I'm thinking that maybe it's better to make an alliance with Gordon and Georgia. They'll be easy to beat in the end. Heck, I would have made an alliance with Double D, but Vicky wouldn't let me. She says they'll be out next, and they'd only bog us down, but—

(Shouts and screams are heard from off camera. The camera pans to reveal Georgia and Victoria in close proximity, screaming at each other.)

PARKER (O.S.)

Oh, no! Gotta go keep Vicky out of trouble!

•   •   •

“H
e didn't kill that woman,” I roared, unable to hold myself back any longer. “In fact, I'm thinking maybe you did!”

Victoria recoiled as if I'd slapped her. “What are you talking about? I didn't even know that woman. Why would I kill her?”

Parker turned in our direction when he heard the outburst. He scurried down the bank toward us, their cameraman in tow, now filming us, too.

“I know you have an ETA connection,” I said, jamming a finger in her face. “You studied here in Spain.”

“You don't know anything!” Victoria screamed.

“I'm gonna prove it. I'm gonna get you! I swear, if it's the last thing I do!” I threatened.

“You better watch your back,” Victoria sneered.

“What's going on?” Parker demanded.

“Look!” Dad shouted from a distance. He pointed upstream, a yellow raft came into view, bobbing its way down the river.

Miguel and Dad rushed toward the bank, away from the wildflower area where they'd been filming Dad's confessional. The raft approached. “Let's make a daisy chain,” Dad yelled out.

We all quickly linked hands, Dad anchored himself by sitting on the rocks, Parker linked to Dad, Victoria
to Parker, and I somehow got the tail end of the stick by having to run out into the icy mountain water.

Ordinarily, the frigid water would have bothered me, but I was so fired up from my confrontation with Victoria that I barely noticed.

I stretched to reach the yellow raft, gripping one of the black nylon straps that wrapped around the small craft. “I got it!”

Pulling on the raft against the swift current felt hopelessly futile. I yanked on it with all my strength, jarring the raft out of the water and hitting myself in the face. Obviously, the current had its own agenda.

Finally, it seemed Miguel couldn't help himself and despite the rules against giving us advice yelled out, “Jump in Georgia, paddle over to the next eddy.” He gesticulated wildly toward the north bank. “We can all get in safely over there.”

I dove headfirst into the raft, water trailing me in. I grabbed an oar and padded madly toward the eddy. Dad, Parker, Victoria, and Miguel scurried over to meet me. Once on the calmer water of the eddy they were all able to climb aboard easily, even Miguel and the other cameraman with their heavy waterproof cameras.

Victoria screamed out as the icy water splashed her belly. She and Dad looked as miserable as I felt. Parker, on the other hand, looked completely in his element. He let out a loud war whoop that jolted Miguel.

“Everyone, grab your oars. I'm steering,” he called out. “When I call left, Vicky, you and Georgia row,
when I call right, that's you Gordon. When I say all, we all dig. Got it?”

We all agreed and within moments we were hurtling into the rougher waters of the
Río Aragón
. A large boulder loomed to our left.

“Rock on the left!” Victoria called out.

“Left row, row, dig, give it all you got!” Parker commanded.

The small raft swerved right, missing the boulder. Adrenaline shot through our crew as we all let out a whoop of delight. Parker expertly navigated us through three more rocks, when suddenly a fork in the river appeared around a bend.

“Oh, geez!” Parker screamed out. “Which way do we go?”

We were silent, an uninformed ignorant crew.

“Miguel! What do we do?” Parker yelled.

The sound of the water changed, intensifying somehow—like a loud roar that was ready to swallow us whole.

“Sounds like a freakin' waterfall,” Parker said. “What the—what the heck is going on?”

“Whitewater up ahead,” Vicky screamed.

“Try the right side,” Miguel said.

We navigated toward the right fork of the river. The water became more choppy and came over the front of the raft in waves.

“We're taking in a lot of water,” Dad said.

Abruptly, the front of the raft dipped as a rapid hit
us, knocking me out of the raft. The impact of the icy water against my chest took my breath away. I was suddenly bobbing up and down the river, a small spec in the current of life, an insignificant nothing against the mighty river's force. A large granite boulder loomed ahead of me in my direct line of sight, and my life flashed before my eyes.

“Georgia!” Dad screamed.

“Put your feet toward downstream,” Parker yelled.

“Swim toward the bank,” Victoria said.

Right. As if I could swim. My hands and arms flung about wildly in an awful duck-flapping imitation, but I was able to swing my feet out in front of me.

“We'll pick you up at the next eddy,” Parker shouted.

My feet crashed into the huge boulder with such force, I feared I broke my leg. Then a silly thought popped into my head:
I'm out of the game now.

Followed by relief.

Out of the game.

I can find Scott and go home.

Suddenly, I was thrust under the murky water. Thank goodness for the life jacket. I floated to the surface, only to have more water pour over me, relentlessly rushing around me, roaring in my ears. It was as if I'd been thrown inside a washing machine stuck on the spin cycle. The river continued to toss me around back and forth.

Which way was up?

I was dizzy and disoriented.

I glimpsed something yellow. The raft! I flailed an arm toward it, reaching, straining, stretching.

Then a hand grabbed me, someone pulling on my life jacket, pushing me under the water, keeping me under. My lungs burned.

Dear God!

I was going to drown right here in the
Río Aragón
.