A Second Chance at Murder (17 page)

Finally, he said, “I have something to tell you. I looked into Matthew Barrett—”

“Oh, yes.” I filled him in on what Cheryl had told me and he concurred that his research had uncovered the same thing. Scott wasn't sitting on millions of dollars; he just simply had worked for hire on a book for Matthew.

“I found something else though,” Sergio said. “I found the woman Scott visited in Spain.”

My breath caught.

“She's seventy years old. Married to one of the richest men in Jaca. The owner of the Spanish Moon. In fact, she ran the hotel for many years. Grew it into what it is now.”

Relief flooded me. Scott hadn't been dating someone in Spain; he wasn't off revisiting an old fling. He'd been researching a book!

Sergio took a sip of his wine and said sadly, “She seemed as fond of him as you are.”

The senora reappeared with a pill bottle and a jar of lotion in her hands. She passed the items to Sergio and left the room without another word.

He opened the small pill bottle and placed two tablets next to my wine. “For the inflammation,” he said.

I looked at the pills, something nagging at me. “Do you know how Miguel died? Has the medical examiner confirmed an overdose?” I asked.

Sergio nodded. “Overdose of narcotics. It looks like he or someone else smashed the pills on the night table into a glass of water. We found the pill residue on the table.”

“That almost suggests murder, doesn't it? I mean, if
he wanted to take the pills himself, wouldn't he have just swallowed them? If they were smashed on the table and then put into the water, then someone else could have done that and made him drink it, right?”

Sergio nodded. “My thoughts exactly.” We were quiet for a moment. Then Sergio asked, “Did Scott do drugs, Georgia?”

“No.”

Sergio looked at my swollen ankle, then reached out and lifted my foot onto his knee. “He didn't take anything for an old injury?” he asked. “Any prescription medicine?”

I shook my head, but a thought nagged at the back of my head.

Sergio unlaced my sneaker and lowered my sock.

“No, don't,” I said, attempting to pull my leg away from him.

He held tight to my knee. “Do you think Spain doesn't train the police in first aid?” He winked.

I laughed. “It's not that.”

“I won't let you die from a sprained ankle, Georgia,” he said, in a teasing tone.

“Come on, let go,” I protested. When he didn't, I said, “My feet smell. I've been riding a bike in the mountains all day—”

He ignored me. “Do you know the things I have smelled as an officer?” He wrinkled his nose and said, “Disgusting.”

With his Spanish accent, I think it was the cutest delivery of the word
disgusting
I'd ever heard. I relented and let him slather the cream onto my ankle. His hands
were smooth and warm as he massaged the lotion into my skin and for a moment I was mesmerized by him.

“It feels better already,” I said. “Thank you.”

He finished working my ankle, but kept one hand on my leg, gently stroking my calf. Electricity sparked between us and my mouth suddenly went dry. I looked into his dark eyes and his gaze was so consuming it inflamed my blood.

In a low voice, he said, “Not good enough to dance tonight, but maybe tomorrow . . .”

“Tomorrow,” I murmured.

He leaned in slowly toward me and time seemed to stop. Our foreheads met. His breath was on my lips. He whispered my name.

Then from the doorway, someone else called my name.

“Georgia!” Montserrat called out.

Sergio and I both started. I overcorrected so far away from him I nearly toppled off the stool. He grabbed my elbow and steadied me.

“
Tranquila,
” he said softly. “Easy.”

Montserrat smiled widely; she had a look of pure satisfaction at interrupting our encounter. “I found your
boyfriend
,” Montserrat said.

Sergio stood. “Where is he?”

Montserrat licked her lips, enjoying her triumphant moment. “Huesca hospital.”

“T
he hospital!” I said. “Is he all right?”

“He's had a head injury,” she said. “They have him in a medically induced coma.”

“Oh, my God. Is he going to be okay?” I asked. Despair ripped through me, leaving me shaky and light-headed.

Montserrat shrugged. Clearly Scott's prognosis wasn't her top concern. “He was listed as a John Doe.”

A car engine roared up the road toward the B&B and we all turned to see the yellow convertible park haphazardly on the grass. Cheryl, Becca, Kyle, and Harris flopped out of the car and burst through the doors of the B&B. It was clear that they had stopped for drinks along on the way.

Kyle and Harris immediately tracked down the senora and ordered another round while I filled Cheryl and Becca in on Scott's status.

“Let's go right now!” Cheryl slurred. “I can drive to West Gate.”

“
Huesca,”
Montserrat corrected.

“That's what I said,” Cheryl insisted with a snarl. She wasn't about to be out-catted by anyone.

“No, no, no,” Sergio said. “You cannot drive. I will drive.”

“We're going, too!” Becca said. “Where's Gordon?”

“In his room sleeping,” I said.

Cheryl clapped her hands together. “Well, I'll take care of that! Give me two minutes and I'll get his little booty down here!”

Sergio and Montserrat proceeded to have a heated discussion in Spanish. I looked to Becca to see if she could make out anything. She shook her head, then whispered. “I'll get Juan Jose, see if he can eavesdrop and translate for us.”

Before Becca could leave, Sergio and Montserrat came to a consensus. “I'll take Georgia in my car. Montserrat will drive the SEAT—”

Dad burst into the bar area. “No, no, no! Gordon will drive the SEAT.” Dad embraced me and said, “I heard the good news.”

“He's in a coma, Dad,” I said, suddenly weeping.

“Now, honey, be strong. Everything is going to be fine.”

•   •   •

I
ended up riding in the SEAT smashed between Cheryl and Becca in the backseat. Dad drove and Sergio navigated. Montserrat had declined to come. She had the night
off and made a rather big show of telling Sergio that she'd rather sit at the bar and drink with Harris and Kyle then come along. She said she trusted him to investigate.

Whatever that meant.

I was sure it was a dig at me, but I couldn't be bothered with that. I was too worried about Scott.

Dad drove cautiously because he didn't know the roads and I secretly wished Sergio had insisted on driving. I knew he would have gotten us to the hospital at lightning speed and right now I needed to see Scott so urgently it hurt.

The night air was warm and under any other conditions it would have been heaven to travel on the interchange in the convertible. But Cheryl and Becca were both deliriously drunk and I was sandwiched in between them. They had to scream at each other to be heard.

“That dog, Scott, better not be faking this,” Cheryl yelled. “I could be out dancing right now.” She snapped her fingers around as if we cared.

“I'm sure he's not faking it!” Becca said.

I chewed on my nails, trying to tune them out. Thoughts about Scott's head injury tortured me. How serious was it? Did he have brain damage? Would it be permanent? Did he remember that night? Would he remember me?

Cheryl wiggled her bottom as if dancing to a song in her head. “Well, all I can say is I'm very happy with how the filming is going. Even if our schedule was completely hosed. Today was fantastic.”

Becca agreed. “Too bad about your ankle, G,” Becca
said. “That really slowed you down today. How's it feel now?”

“A little better,” I admitted.

“I thought Cooper's injury was going to slow him down,” Cheryl said. “But the man is like a bull!”

“Cooper has an injury?” I asked.

“Old football injury,” Becca said.

“The man is like a bull, I tell you,” Cheryl repeated. “I'd love to have you all running with the bulls, can we arrange that?”

“I already told you we can't,” Becca said. “The bullfights are in the summer. We're too early.”

“Maybe we can create some bulls with special effects or something,” Cheryl insisted.

Cooper had an old football injury! That's what had been nagging at me earlier. I'd seen him take pain pills for it. I tapped Sergio on the shoulder and he turned around.

“Woo-we,” Cheryl said to Sergio. “Honey, I have to tell you, you got a face that stops hearts. What's it gonna take to bring you to Hollywood?”

“Cooper takes prescription medicine,” I said.

He frowned. “What kind?”

“I'm not kidding!” Cheryl said. “What's it gonna take?”

“I don't know,” I admitted.

Sergio nodded. “I'll look into it.”

“I'd sure appreciate that, honey. You look into it and tell me what it's going to take,” Cheryl said. “I can negotiate. You tell me what you need.”

Sergio frowned at her, but suddenly he looked up and said to Dad, “This exit. Take this exit!”

•   •   •

W
e parked and walked toward the hospital's main entrance. My nerves pulsed through my body and if it weren't for Dad holding me up, I feared I'd need the wheelchair that was stationed just inside of the glass double front doors. The hospital smelled sterile and I realized with a jolt that hospitals smelled the same no matter what country you were in.

We passed by a nurses' station and Sergio inquired about Scott. He showed the nurse his badge and they had a prolonged conversation in Spanish while I chewed down my remaining nails. Thankfully, Cheryl and Becca had begun to sober up; either that, or being in a hospital had completely killed their buzz. They collapsed into the hard orange plastic chairs of the waiting room and fidgeted silently.

Finally, the nurse nodded and ducked down a narrow passageway. Sergio turned to Dad and me. “She's gone to get the doctor.”

She returned with a tall, thin man. He had glasses and wore a doctor's coat. He spoke with Sergio, who translated for us. Scott had been picked up in the Pyrenees by a driver who'd brought him here, as it was the closest hospital. He'd had no ID and the hospital had classified him as a John Doe. They notified the Huesca police, but everyone had incorrectly assumed Scott was Spanish so no one had answered the Jaca Police Department requests regarding a missing American.

The emergency room doctor had immediately
prescribed barbiturates because they slow the metabolic rate of the brain and with less brain activity, there would be less blood flow, which would reduce the swelling and also decrease the possibility of brain damage.

“No brain damage?” I asked.

Sergio translated my question and the doctor responded in Spanish. Sergio turned to me and said, “He says it's too early to tell. Just this afternoon, they began to decrease the medication, but it will be another twenty-four to forty-eight hours before he wakes up.”

“Can I see him?”

The doctor led Dad and me down the narrow corridor. My knees were shaking as we walked. We pushed open the door to Scott's room. He lay in the bed, eyes closed, IV tube and an oxygen mask attached. Despite all the tubes stuck to him, I felt relieved to see him. I rushed to his bedside and kissed him all over his face.

I babbled like an idiot and waited for Scott to respond.

At one point, his eyelids fluttered and I wept.

•   •   •

I
stayed with Scott for six hours and I would have stayed the entire night, but I hadn't been able to convince Cheryl to put off the show for a day. She'd argued that Scott would still be in the coma for at least another twenty-four hours and by then, she promised I'd be done with my contract and free to spend all my time with him.

So we left the hospital in the early-morning hours after I'd met the night shift nurse and knew Scott was in good hands. Sergio drove us back to Jaca. Dad was
in the backseat with Cheryl and Becca, all of them asleep. I sat in front with Sergio, but neither of us spoke.

Finally, when we arrived at the B&B, everyone piled out of the car. The hotel was dark, and we crept up to our rooms quietly. Becca gave me a reassuring “Don't worry too much, G. Scott's a tough cookie. He's going to pull out of this just fine,” before she fell into bed and began to snore.

I was tired but wired.

I studied the paint job on the ceiling and thought about Cooper. Could he have given his pain meds to Miguel to get him to overdose? If so, why?

There was a piece of the puzzle missing and I'd meant to stay up and figure it out, but then suddenly the sun was up and I realized it was time to report to the final competition.

M
y mouth watered at the smell of freshly baked madeleines and café con leche. When I entered the dining hall I found it empty except for the senora. She welcomed me with a huge smile. “Ah, Georgia, how is your foot?” She pointed to my ankle as she prepared something behind the bar.

“Much better. Thank you.”

“I heard they found your
amor
. He's in Huesca, no? At the hospital.”

I nodded.

She gave me a “be brave” smile and said, “He will be fine.”

“I hope so.”

“Poor Sergio. He was falling in love with you.”

I waved a hand, dismissing the thought. “No.”

“
Sí
,” she insisted. “And, I know, one more day and you
would have been in love with him, too.” Before I could respond she handed me a basket. “Some madeleines and fresh fruit for you. The others are waiting outside on the bus. They wanted to wake you, but I say, ‘No!'”

“Thank you,” I said, rushing out.

“
De nada
,” she said.

•   •   •

I
ran outside. The SEAT was gone, but the bus was idling on the curb. I climbed inside and the doors closed behind me with a soft hiss.

The crew was in the back of the bus chatting among themselves, and Cooper and Todd were in the front whooping it up with Dad, who in truth looked like he'd rather have slept in as well.

“Sorry I'm late,” I said, sliding into the seat next to Dad's.

“Ain't no big, dollface,” Cooper said.

“It's totally understandable,” Todd said. “I'm glad they found your boyfriend. I hope he's all right.”

“Thank you,” I said, hiding my shock. That was the first time I'd heard Todd say anything nice.

The bus rolled along the city streets of Jaca, until we ended up on the outskirts in front of the citadel.

“Cool!” Todd said.

In front of us was a fortress that had been built in the Middle Ages. It had a huge rock wall that ran the length of at least five city blocks.

We got off the bus and walked into the citadel. Inside,
we had to cross a moat to get over to where we saw the blue tarp in front of a Baroque-style military chapel.

Cooper clapped his hands together. “Oh, yeah. The fun is about to start!”

Cheryl and Becca were standing around with Harris and they snapped to attention when they saw us approach. After the cameras set up, Harris launched into his welcome speech.

“Cooper, Todd, Georgia, Gordon. Congratulations on making it to the final round of
Expedition Improbable
! Where nothing can stop you but yourself!” He gave the customary recap of yesterday's events, then said, “Cooper and Todd, you managed to finish in first place on the first two competitions, but yesterday, you were edged out by Georgia and Gordon. Are you nervous?”

Cooper chuckled. “My momma taught me only fools don't get nervous.”

“Smart woman,” Harris said. “Now, remember. Even though this is the last competition, there's still plenty of time for anything to happen. Today we're at the world famous Citadel of Jaca. As you may have noticed, the buildings are guarded by walls of cypresses and a moat.” He moved his hands in a dramatic gesture toward the military chapel that we stood in front of, and I knew that in the final show, Cheryl and Becca would have the team splice in images of everything Harris had just mentioned.

“In today's challenge,” Harris continued, “you will have to find your way around this pentagonal maze to
a hidden clue. The clue will lead to you another destination, where you'll retrieve an item that, when brought to the medieval Bridge of San Miguel, will unleash the fireworks celebration. The team to do this will win our generous cash prize of a quarter of a million dollars!”

Cooper and Todd high-fived each other.

I turned to Dad, and caught him stifling a yawn.

Poor man! I'd kept him up until the late hours of the night and now as his reward for sticking with me, he got to walk around lost in a maze.

Harris said, “Georgia, Gordon, because you came in first place yesterday, you may now begin the challenge.”

Dad and I rushed out toward the moat, with Kyle filming us. “What are we looking for?” I asked.

“A clue,” Dad said.

“I've been looking for a clue my whole life.”

Dad laughed.

We reached the moat and looked out at the water. “No seriously. I mean, how are we supposed to find the clue?”

He shrugged.

“Were you listening?” I asked.

Dad looked guilty. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Right. Me, too. But I don't think he gave us any direction, just sort of said we had to find the clue to get the next clue.”

We crossed the small trestle bridge over the moat and then glanced back at the bastion where there was a cannon at each corner.

Staring at the cannon, Dad said, “Maybe if we don't find the clue in time, Cheryl will have us shot.”

We ducked under a covered walkway that led to the parade ground. “Maybe the clue is around there,” I said and motioned toward the parade ground. It was an open space.

“Nah, too easy,” Dad said. “I'm sure we have to make a few more twists and turns before we'll find anything.”

Cooper and Todd suddenly came into view, obviously following our lead.

“They think this is the right direction,” I said.

Dad stopped in his tracks and watched them. “Whatever they do, let's do the opposite.”

“Why?”

“I think this place is too big for us to wander around all day. If they find the clue first, we'll know because likely we'll see them leave. But if we find the clue first, then we found the clue first.”

I shrugged. “Sure. That almost makes sense and I'm too tired to argue.”

Dad put his arm around me as we stared off toward Cooper and Todd. They stood at a distance, probably going over much of the same logic Dad and I had just run through. Finally they broke left, so Dad and I went right.

We jogged around the external perimeter looking for anything resembling a clue. The day was starting to heat up and I'd already broken a sweat. Kyle began to complain about the distance we were hiking along with the weight of the camera. At one point, we stopped and sat on the grass to take a breather, but after a few minutes Dad hiked up to one of the stone walls and scaled it.

“Hey, I got a view from here,” he said.

“Yeah, see anything interesting?” I asked.

“I think I see the barracks and maybe a storage office. Lots of old munitions stacked about, too.”

I motioned for him to come down.

He ignored me, shading his eyes with one hand as he squinted. “Wait! I see something. Next to the munitions. A flag!” He scuttled off the wall and raced down the hill. We had to get around the moat again to close in on the barracks.

I sprinted after him, my ankle protesting the faster pace. I slowed a bit and heard Kyle mutter, “Thank God!”

We rounded the nearest wall of cypresses and raced toward the little bridge that crossed the moat. Every so often, when the breeze blew, we could just make out the tip of the bull's-eye flag that peeked over the crest of a grassy mound.

When we reached the top of the hill, we found the now familiar makeshift pole with the clear plastic box mounted to it. Dad ripped the note out of the box.

It read:
At the bodega find your bullring and enjoy a
calimocho
with Carmen.

“What?” asked Dad, as he reread the note. “What's a
calimocho
?”

“You've had
calimocho
s before, you just don't remember. Bullring!” I shouted. “We have to go to the Plaza de Toros!”

Dad nodded. “Uh . . . okay. Who's Carmen?”

“They probably hired someone to give us the next clue,” I said.

Kyle began to giggle and we stared at him, but he collected himself and stopped laughing.

Dad and I barreled down the hill, with Kyle in hot
pursuit. As we exited the citadel, Todd and Cooper spotted us and began to frantically run in the direction we'd come from, figuring we'd located the clue.

On the street, we ran to the nearest corner and looked for a cab.

“At least we won't get run off the road this time,” Dad said.

Soon enough a cab pulled into view and we waved it down. We didn't have the luxury of Miguel along this time to translate, so I had to mutter, “Plaza de Toros,” on my own, only to have the driver correct my pronunciation.

Kyle began to giggle again, but I ignored him.

On the interchange, I saw the sign with the red cross on it and the little bed, the Spanish symbol for hospital. My heart felt heavy as I thought about Scott.
Had he woken up yet?

EXT. CITADEL DAY

Todd is standing in front of an eight-foot wall of cypress. He chews on his lip as he looks away. He is dressed in a green jersey that does little for his coloring. In fact, he looks nauseous.

TODD

(
Licks his lips
) I'm Todd Nelson. One of the contestants on
Expedition Improbable
. I'm competing with my buddy, Cooper Bowman. Big NFL guy.
(He waves his hand around as
if dismissing Cooper.)
Everybody knows Coop. Everybody loves Coop.

Anyway, I figured we were probably a shoe-in from the start. Cooper's just so competitive. Man, he's not going to let anyone get between us and the prize money. But, hey, I'll say this. That little girl, Georgia, and her dad. They are tough competition. They are in it to win it. But so are we.

CAMERAMAN (O.S.)

Are you enjoying yourself?

TODD

Oh, heck yeah.
(waves his hands around)
This is some beautiful country, lots of partying, too. But maybe it got a little too wild the other night. Well, shoot, who am I kidding? The partying has been out of control since we got here. Ever since the first night when Cooper hooked up with that Spanish woman in the mountains. (
He pulls on his ear.)
Well, I probably shouldn't talk about that on camera. Coop's done a pretty good job keeping it under wraps. I don't think anyone knew except for me and Victoria. And he kept her quiet by keeping her happy. And he can keep me quiet by doing his all to win this prize money.
(His face flushes and he turns red with anger.)
Because I'll tell you, I'm tired of keeping secrets and getting no thank-you in return.
(He looks off in the distance, chewing on the inside of his mouth.)

But anyway, I know he feels bad about hooking up with the woman. Well, not exactly bad about hooking up with her, but bad about what happened to her later and he wonders if it's his fault.
(He sighs.)
I suppose there's things we all regret. Things we wonder if we caused . . .
(
He pauses and buries his face in his hands. After a moment, he suddenly jolts upright.)
Can you guys edit this last section out? I'm exhausted and just talking nonsense. Ignore me.