A Second Chance at Murder (7 page)

Heat surged between us, transferring only from his finger on my check, but igniting my entire body.

For a brief second, I let myself imagine that I wasn't discussing a murder case with another cop, but that I was someone else entirely.

A girl in a movie, maybe, about to kiss the leading man.

I sat up. Jolting myself out of whatever romantic reverie I'd just been in. Sergio let out a slow exhale, accompanied by a little sigh, presumably of disappointment.

After a moment, he said, “Cooper got caught with a prostitute, but charges were dropped.”

“That type of thing isn't uncommon for an NFL star,” I said.

He shrugged. “Love can make men do crazy things.”

The weight I'd been carrying all day seemed too heavy now. I sighed. “My father arrived in Spain today. He had news from Scott.”

Sergio sat up straight. “Where is he? We must interview him as soon as possible.”

“Dad? He's staying at the B&B—”

“No, no. Scott. Where is he? Do you know? Did he tell your father?”

I shook my head. “I don't know where he is. Only . . . that . . .”

Sergio waited for me to continue. The fireworks show was nearly at a crescendo—the finale. And my mind somehow associated it with the finality of Scott's email.

“He broke up with me, Sergio. Said he walked off the set, because he didn't really want to do the show and he didn't want to continue a relationship with me.”

He frowned. “Is it typical for Americans to break up by sending an email?”

“It's not typical, no, not if you have any class,” I said. But then what was typical? Leaving your bride at the altar?

Maybe it's me. Guys can't face me when they've lost the loving feeling.

“Do you believe the email was from him, Georgia?” he asked.

I shook my shoulders. “I suppose so. How would I know?”

Sergio laid a warm hand on my shoulder. “Our technical team may be able to track him from it. Can you get me a copy of the email?”

I nodded.

“You still love him?” Sergio asked.

What had prompted the question, I wondered.

I swallowed, the emotion building in my throat. “Yes.”

He turned his face toward the repeated spherical blasts of colored balls that filled the night sky. The
music drifted off as the last burst of fireworks left a visible trail of red sparks.

Then nothing.

The sky was dark again and the only sound was my breathing.

“Some men don't know how lucky they are,” Sergio said.

W
hen I arrived at the B&B, most of the rooms were dark. I entered mine to find Becca asleep in bed wearing her pink-leopard eye mask and snoring lightly. The first thing I did was check my cell phone. Reception in the town of Jaca had been spotty, but at the B&B it was pretty consistent. I saw that I'd missed a call from Scott's mom, Bernice.

I dialed her back but got voice mail.

I decided to leave a message for her, instructing her to call the B&B instead of my cell phone. No use risking missing another call due to bad reception.

Slipping off my clothes, I went to settle into bed, but saw a note card on my pillow. It was a cream-colored envelope with my name on it. My pulse raced as I ripped open the envelope.

I was hoping this was some secret communication
from Scott, instead it was a note from Cheryl, presumably the entire cast had gotten a “love note” from her.

Dear contestant,

You are to report to the lobby at eight a.m. sharp to receive instructions for your first challenge. Hope you get enough rest tonight. It's going to be a long haul . . .

Sincerely yours,

The executive producer of Expedition Improbable

I lay back in bed and pondered the “long haul” part of the note. Were they going to make us move something? Haul something somewhere?

I remembered Todd and Parker and how furious they'd been tonight. Had they formed an alliance? Certainly Cooper and Victoria seemed hot for each other, so it didn't seem that drastic of a leap to imagine the teams had agreed to pair up.

How far would they go to win?

Surely murder was out of the question, but could they have scared Scott off somehow?

I had mixed feelings about the entire email. It was hard to believe he would break up with me in that fashion. Even though we'd met on a reality TV show, I'd still thought we'd had something. How could he walk away from me so easily? And without even a good-bye.

Maybe I was just a fool.

But, instinct told me there was something wrong with his email. Something about the tone. It didn't seem like Scott.

Was he afraid?

What would scare him? I closed my eyes and imagined his face. He had strong, handsome features, and he wasn't someone that scared easily. Or at least he hadn't struck me that way. Had Cooper or Todd threatened him or someone he loved?

His mother, maybe . . . or . . . could Scott have been defending me somehow?

My heart ached. Did he love me?

Not if he'd run off like that, he didn't.

•   •   •

M
orning came quickly, and when I woke up I saw that Becca had already left the room. This time I slipped on exactly what Kyle had selected for me. A violet top and cargo pants. If I knew him at all, the women would be decked out in jewel tones and the men in neutrals. So I needed to comply or I'd get read the riot act. At least the pants were roomy enough for me to stick a few essentials in the pockets: a Swiss army knife, ChapStick, and matches. I latched my paracord survival bracelet onto my wrist and made a quick restroom stop.

The halls were deserted and I worried that I was late. I rushed downstairs and found the cast nervously milling around the bar. The senora had left out a tray of pastries and fruit for us and was busy whipping up café con leches.

Dad waved me over, he looked fresh and rested and I instantly regretted staying out so late with Sergio.

“Hiya, pumpkin!” Dad said.

Next to Dad was Harris Carlson, the host of the show. Harris was busy chatting with the mother-and-son team, while Kyle primped DeeCee, applying some powder to her nose. He'd styled her fire-red hair so that it puffed out around her face and she looked like a lioness.

He nearly screamed when he saw me. “Ack! Did you even brush your hair?”

I turned away from him and snagged a pastry off the bar. “Don't be so obnoxious. My hair's fine.” I wore a ball cap and had neatly pinned my hair underneath.

“I wouldn't know,” he hissed.

Cheryl flew into the room with Becca trailing behind her.

“All right, listen up, folks,” Cheryl said. “As you may know, one of the contestant teams has had to have a substitution, but, like they say in Tinseltown—the show must go on!”

There was a general mumbling from the cast as Cheryl introduced my dad. “So this morning,” Cheryl continued, “we're going to take you in buses over to a hiking trail. Each team will have to hike to the top of the trail, where you'll find El Monasterio de San Juan de la Peña.”

Cheryl butchered the Spanish so bad that the senora giggled from behind the bar.

Cheryl flashed her a look, then continued. “At the monastery, you'll find hidden clues for your next adventure. The crew is going to follow you with cameras: Each
two-person team will be assigned one camera. They won't be able to assist you if you have questions. But, if you get injured and you need help, we'll medevac you out. I want you all to remember that if that happens, your time will be deducted or you'll be immediately disqualified. Any questions?”

“Yeah!” Todd puffed up his chest. “Why isn't she disqualified then?” He pointed an angry finger in my direction.

Cheryl shook her head. “Scott left the show before filming began—”

“We filmed!” Parker complained. “We did all that stuff in the studio in Hollywood for the promos.”

Cheryl waved a hand at Todd and Parker, completely dismissing them. “Doesn't count. The competition hadn't begun. Today's hike counts,” she said.

Cooper, the NFL player, stared at her. “A hike? You know hiking's a little bit harder for us big guys,” he joked.

“Are we allowed to help each other?” Todd asked.

Cheryl studied him. “You mean alliances?”

Todd shrugged. “Maybe.”

Cheryl smiled. “Darling, this is reality TV. You can help anyone you like
and
you can refuse to help, too. The meaner you all are, the better. We live on ratings!”

I shuddered. Cheryl was actually encouraging them to be nasty. I groaned into Dad's shoulder.

Suddenly, Cheryl put on her headset and retreated from view. The cameramen shouldered their equipment and the lights from the cameras blinded us. We were live.

We made our way out of the B&B toward the same small bus that had brought us into Jaca. The sun was already out, heating up the ground. The day was going to be a scorcher. I was glad for my hat and pulled it down on my forehead as we piled into the buses.

“I'm so glad I'm an avid hiker,” Dad teased.

Although Dad was very active on the farm, he wasn't exactly a mountain man. I knew he was tough and he'd be able to deal readily with the heat.

“I'm glad you're with me, Dad.”

He patted my knee. “I'm always with you, honey.”

The bus dropped us off at the base of the mountain. We were instructed to get into a large circle while Harris explained the rules to us.

“Welcome everyone to
Expedition Improbable
!” Harris boomed in his made-for-TV voice. “Where nothing can stop you but yourself!” He launched into a brief introduction of the teams, then said, “At the top of this hike, you will find a medieval monastery, one that is rumored to have protected the Holy Grail. At the monastery, you will find a clue that will lead you to something special. Only one team will be able to obtain the artifact. If you do, you will be granted a two-hour head start in tomorrow's expedition.”

The teams all responded favorably, oohing and aahing at Harris's announcement.

“The other teams will need to obtain a key in order to continue. Remember! Tomorrow you'll begin the next challenge with whatever time advantage you secure today, so if you end up in third place, say fifteen minutes
behind the second-place team, then tomorrow you'll start fifteen minutes
after
the second-place team.”

Everyone groaned.

Harris smiled wickedly at our reaction, then clapped his hands and said, “I'm sorry to say, this is an elimination round. The last team to cross the finish line will be eliminated.”

We were each given a knapsack with some food and water. Dad and I fussed over which pack was heavier. He took the dark one, which had the water bottles in it, and handed me the lighter pack. Before we even got the packs on our backs, we realized that we were suddenly alone and in last place.

“Holy night, Dad! Did everyone just take off?” I asked.

We watched the backside of the mother-and-son team as they climbed up a switchback and disappeared from view.

Our cameraman was Miguel. He'd been camping with us in the Pyrenees on the night Scott had left. Miguel hoisted the camera on his shoulder and turned on the microphone. He winked at me to indicate that he'd be capturing our every word from now on.

We headed toward the trail and began our trek, Dad giving me encouraging little tidbits along the way. “Don't worry, Georgia. It's not a sprint, it's a marathon,” he said.

“Thanks for the cliché, Dad,” I said.

Dad laughed. “That one is straight from the
Farmer's Almanac
.”

I snorted.

We grew quiet as we ascended through the switchback. The trail was beautiful as it wound its way up quickly enough that my ears popped. We had vistas of the Spanish countryside. It was dry in northern Spain at this time of the year and I longed to take a water break, but since we hadn't even caught up with the mother-and-son team, we continued steadily on.

Finally after what seemed like an hour, I asked, “How long is this trail?”

“I don't know.” Dad chuckled. “Judging by that team of producers, they probably gave us a day hike!”

“Right,” I mumbled. Cheryl would do anything to make sure the show succeeded.

In the quiet of the hike my thoughts returned to Scott and the murdered woman. Who was she and what had she been doing so near to our campsite? It felt as if she should in some way be connected with either the cast or crew, otherwise it seemed too big of a coincidence.

What had I learned so far about the cast?

Todd and Parker were ultracompetitive. Cooper and Todd both had criminal records, and Victoria had a connection to ETA.

Did any of the facts add up to murder?

Miguel stopped for a moment to adjust his camera, but quickly sprinted up ahead of us, to get a shot of us climbing up the trail.

What about the crew?

Miguel had been there that night. I knew nothing about him. Could he be part of ETA?

Sweat dripped down my forehead and in desperation I called out to Miguel, “How long is this hike?”

Dad admonished me. “He's not going to tell you. They're not supposed to talk to us or offer any support.”

“Well, he's not supposed to anyway but sometimes people break the rules,” I said.

Dad chuckled. “Don't count on it. He'd have to deal with Cheryl if he broke the rules and even if he doesn't know her like we do, he's probably seen enough to know that he doesn't want to get on her bad side.”

After another hour of hiking we decided to take a break and sat on some boulders near a small creek. From his knapsack, Dad pulled out our water bottles. I rustled through my pack and found granola bars and apples. We ate in silence for a moment. I took off my cap and dipped it in the cool creek water.

“Do you think anybody has reached the top yet?” Dad asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “Honestly, I thought that mother-and-son team would trail behind us but she's as spry as a chicken.” I chuckled.

“I hope that's not a crack at me,” Dad said, a serious look on his face.

I laughed. “No, Dad, you're in great shape. It's a marathon not a sprint.”

He laughed.

After our snack we proceeded up the hill. We crossed a waterfall and two streams and still no sign of the monastery. Two hours later we stopped at a lookout point to take another break.

“I can't believe we're not at the top yet,” Dad said. “I had no idea what the heck I was signing up for!”

Miguel, the cameraman, mumbled something.

I looked at him, hopefully.

He held up a solitary figure.

“One more hour?” Dad whined.

I laughed. “I thought you weren't supposed to help us.”

Miguel put the finger to his lips.

“We promise we won't tell,” I said.

Dad took a swig from his water bottle and said, “You better not tell Cheryl. She would break his legs.”

Miguel took the camera off his shoulder and gave us a briefing on the trail ahead.

“It's not so steep now. Soon you will see El Monasterio de San Juan de la Peña. It's fantastic. Part of the church is carved in the stone of the great cliff!
San Juan de la Peña
means ‘Saint John of the Cliff.'”

“Wow,” Dad said, as he overlooked the vista. “We sure ain't in Cottonwood anymore, Georgia.”

I poked his back. “Not funny, now let's get going, old man.”

After about another mile, we finally arrived at the monastery. The monastery itself was breathtaking, built beneath a huge rock and hanging off the cliff. But even more amazing was that the other teams, which we thought were so far ahead of us, were all standing at the entrance looking hot and bewildered.

Cooper, who seemed to be the only one happy to see us, bounded over to me. “Georgia, I'm so glad you're here.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you'll be able to figure out where the clue is hidden.”

They all looked at me.

“You mean you've all been up here and haven't found the clue yet?” I asked.

“That's right,” he said.

“How long have you been up here?” Dad asked.

“A long time,” DeeCee complained. Her lioness hair was now flat against her face and dripping in sweat. I was suddenly glad for my ball cap.