A Second Chance at Murder (9 page)

I
fell into an exhausted heap on the bus and tried to tune out Cooper's over-the-top reenactment of our adventure. As far I was concerned, he was my MVP and was entitled to any and all hero worship.

When we arrived at the bed-and-breakfast, everyone piled out of the bus and into the bar. I wanted to make a beeline for my room, but ran into Sergio waiting for me at the bar. “Georgia, do you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you.”

Apprehension jolted through me, the exhaustion I'd been feeling only moments ago, evaporated. “Yes! What is it? Have you located Scott?”

Sergio shook his head.

Suddenly the senora who owned the B&B scurried out from the kitchen, a cordless phone in her hand. “
¡Ay! ¡Señorita Georgia, teléfono!
”

My heart raced. The only person calling me here would be Scott's mother. Could she have had news from him?

I turned to Sergio. “Excuse me. I have to take that call. It's probably Scott's mother.”

He waved and nodded, indicating I should take the call. The senora handed me the phone and pointed in the direction of the small room that Sergio and Montserrat had set up as a makeshift office. I crossed the dining hall and entered the quiet room, but when Sergio followed me, I regretted telling him it was Scott's mother on the phone.

I covered the phone's mouthpiece with my palm. “Uh . . . can you give me a minute?” I asked Sergio.

He frowned. “I have some questions for her, too.”

I hesitated. I wanted to speak with Bernice in private, but I knew it was probably important for Sergio to speak with her, too. I nodded, then put the receiver to my ear.

“Hi, Bernice.”

“Georgia!” The older woman said, “So good to hear your voice. I got your message. How's the show going? Is Scott giving you problems? You know, sometimes he's just like his father was—”

“Bernice, have you heard from Scott?”

“Heard from him? No, what do you mean? That boy doesn't call me. I'm just glad that you two hooked up, otherwise I'd never have news from him,” she said.

I knew that wasn't true, Scott called his mother several times a week. But I also understood she would have liked to talk to him every hour. Sergio quirked an eyebrow at me, as if hoping I'd report Bernice's every word to him.
Instead, I turned my back to him, in an effort to get some privacy.

“Bernice, Scott left the show. He walked off the set the other night. He didn't say anything to me, but then he sent an email to my dad saying it was over between us.”

Bernice clucked. “Over between you? Why, that no-good . . . He's just like his father—” Her voice broke off and she choked back a sob.

“Do you have any idea where he could have gone? I'm worried sick about him.”

“No,” she whispered.

“No,” I repeated, more or less for Sergio's benefit.

“You could ask that girl,” Bernice said suddenly. “Maybe he went to visit her.”

My stomach dropped.

What girl?

I bit my lip and waited for Bernice to continue.

After a moment, Bernice said, “There was a girl in Spain he was interested in, way back when. It was nothing serious. Not really. But I know they were still in touch and he got pretty close to her when he was writing that book.”

The room seemed to spin and I grabbed for the office chair that was near me.

Sergio made a face, unhappy with my silence. “
Que?
” he asked.

I held up a hand to wave him away and sat in the chair.

“It was nothing serious,” Bernice insisted, but her voice got high-pitched and I doubted her sincerity. “He
visited her a few times, that's all. Maybe he needed to see her one last time.”

“I understand,” I said, although I didn't.

Why wouldn't Scott have told me he'd been to Spain before?

Why had he been secretive about a past relationship?

“Do you remember her name?” I asked, fearful of the answer.

Please, God, don't say Annalise Rodriguez.

I pressed a hand against my temple. If Bernice spit out the name of the dead woman, I thought my head might split open.

“Uh . . .” She hesitated. “Oh, my memory fails me sometimes. I used to have the best memory for details and things. I could recite all of Shakespeare's sonnets, but now. Pfft, I'm lucky I remember to take out the trash, you know, honey? Anyway, even if I did know her name what good would that do? You can chase the boy down, honey, but if he's not ready to commit . . . well, some men aren't meant for—”

“Was it
Annalise Rodriguez
?”

At the mention of the dead woman's name, Sergio stiffened.

“Annalise? Now, let's see. Let me think. An-na-li-se Rod-ri-guez,” she said slowly to herself.

My breath caught.

“I don't think so,” Bernice said. There was so much hesitation in her voice, it was little consolation. After a moment she said, “I'm sure I can find her name somewhere, if I look around a little.”

“Could you?” I asked. “It's important.” A thought struck me. “Bernice, what book was he working on when he was in Spain?”

Sergio said, “The one he published under a pen name.”

“What?” I felt stunned for a moment. The headache that had been threatening suddenly burst through and my temples were on fire. “Scott doesn't use a pen name,” I muttered.

“What's that, honey?” Bernice asked.

“Did Scott use a pen name?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Bernice said. “Didn't you know? Scott writes under the name Matthew Barrett . . .”

Matthew Barrett?

Matthew Barrett was one of the top thriller writers in the U.S. He sold millions of books each year, yet Scott was broke. Or that's what he'd told me. I felt like my world was crumbling in on itself.

Bernice continued chatting along, “. . . he published an entire thriller series under that name. In fact, the book he was working on when he went to Spain was
Spanish Moon
, the first one in that series about that separatist group they have up there. What's their name?”

ETA.

Oh, no.

Scott had been researching ETA on a trip to Spain!

Sergio watched me. He frowned. “You didn't know Scott had a pen name?”

“Anyway, honey,” Bernice said. “Don't let that boy get you too upset. He'll figure out soon enough what a
jewel he's lost and then he'll come crawling back. Although, his father never did figure out—”

“Bernice,” I interrupted. There was only so much I could take. I couldn't listen to her recount tales about her failed marriage.

Why did I ever think love would work out for me?

“Thank you so much for all the information. Please call me back if you remember the girl's name.”

“Oh, I will, honey. Don't you worry! Chin up! And if Scott does come begging for forgiveness, tell him to call his old ma!”

I hung up before Sergio could ask her any questions. My head was buzzing and I felt nauseous. I needed time to regroup before Sergio started grilling me. I buried my head between my knees and took a few deep breaths.

Sergio remained quiet and watched me sympathetically for a moment, then asked, “What did she tell you about Scott's time in Spain. Do you know who he visited here?”

“She couldn't recall the woman's name. She's going to search for it and call me back.”

Sergio looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face. “You'll give me her name as soon as you have it,” he said.

“Of course,” I lied.

Nothing made sense anymore, but I knew I needed time to sort through things before handing the Spanish police any information that could damage Scott. Whether Scott was a liar or not, he wasn't a killer. Of that I was sure . . .

Wasn't I?

Ugh! I was always one step behind.

“What do you know about Scott's politics?” Sergio asked.

“I suppose I didn't really know Scott one way or the other,” I said, standing. “We didn't talk politics.”

Sergio laughed. “That's difficult to believe.”

“Really? Why?”

“In Spain everyone talks politics. What else is there to talk about?”

I reached for the door, but Sergio blocked my path.

“Did he know anybody in Spain who would take him across the French border?”

“Not that I know of.”

But that wasn't saying much.

“We've checked the airport, bus stations, and hotels in the area. He hasn't used his passport. So if he left the country, he didn't do it legally.” Sergio clapped his hands together. “Enough business talk. Are you going to the fiestas tonight?”

“Fiestas? There's still more fiestas?” I asked.

He laughed. “Oh, the fiestas in Spain last a week. We can't get anything done in a day.”

“I thought the fiestas were yesterday because it was the first Friday of the month.”

He smiled. “Yes! Exactly! And today is the first Saturday.”

I chuckled despite myself. A few minutes ago, I'd been ready to collapse into bed after that tortuous hike, but now that my world had been turned upside down yet
again, going to see a few fireworks and drinking a couple of
sangrías
sounded like a better option.

Sergio reached for the door and swung it open. Montserrat was in the doorway and peeked her head in, startling us both.

“Sergio, I need to speak to you immediately,” she said.

Sergio put a hand on my lower back and ushered me out the door. “Excuse me, Georgia.
Nos vemos
,” he said.

On my way out of the office, Montserrat passed me with a smug little smile on her face.

Hmm. What had that been about?

I crossed the dining hall to the bar, which was empty except for Dad.

“Who was that?” Dad asked about Montserrat.

“She's on the search-and-rescue team,” I replied.

“Maybe she has news,” he asked.

“Maybe so.” Although I hoped it wasn't a ploy to get Sergio away. Did Montserrat have the hots for him? Did she think that I posed a threat?

Well, I certainly wasn't ready to date anybody until I knew for sure what was happening with Scott and even then I needed time to heal. I tried to push the thought of Sergio out of my mind.

Becca and Cheryl appeared next to us, both were dressed in white and red, ready for the evening's festivities.

“What did Scott's mom say to you?” Dad asked.

“Has she heard from Scott?” Becca asked.

I held up my hands before they could bombard me with questions.

“I'll catch you all up on everything later. Right now I need to shower.” I turned on my heel, but Cheryl stopped me.

“When do you think we'll be able to leave?” she asked. “I have a show to run, you know.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We're being held here in Jaca,” Becca said.

“Held?” Dad asked.

“We've been detained,” Cheryl said. “Sure, we're not in jail. But the police aren't allowing us to leave the country.”

Dad frowned. “Why's that?”

“Because we were camping near where the woman was found,” I said. “The police suspect one of us.”

I cringed as I recalled how irate Victoria had become over the chalice earlier in the afternoon. With a temper like that, certainly she was capable of bashing in someone's skull. Had she known Annalise from her previous travels to Spain?

And what about Parker and Todd, they'd been ready to attack me last night at the fiestas.

“Don't you have an influence with that cop?” Cheryl pressed.

“No—”

“I mean, he has the complete hots for you, Georgia, use those feminine wiles,” Cheryl said.

Geez, did nothing get past Miss Barracuda?

I shrugged. “I'm not really itching to leave Jaca.”

Cheryl smirked. “Of course you're not.”

My reasons weren't what Cheryl imagined. If I stayed
in Jaca, it would be easier to find Scott, because as Sergio said, Scott hadn't left the area. He was likely hiding out somewhere, but where and from what?

Also, the thought of leaving the area without Scott was unbearable. There was no way I could leave until I got to the bottom of it all.

Cheryl clapped her hands at Dad and me. “Come on. Come on! Let's get out to those fiestas. I didn't get a chance to dance last night, but tonight's my night!”

My second wind died a swift death. The idea of dancing all night was really out of the question for me. My feet ached and I was exhausted.

“I'm too tired,” I said. “I think I'll pass—”

Cheryl pulled on my arm. “Nonsense! I heard there's a medieval jousting festival. And an archery competition and everything.”

I moaned. “Oh, no.”

“Is that supposed to give you ideas for tomorrow?” Dad asked.

Cheryl laughed. “Actually no, but I am a great shot. I wanted to show off for you.”

Becca put an arm around me and squeezed. “Come on, G. Go get ready. It'll be fun!”

The door to the makeshift office creaked open and Sergio and Montserrat approached.

Cheryl snapped her fingers at Sergio. “Excuse me. When do you think we'll be able to leave? I have to schedule the next contest for the show and that was supposed to be in France.”

“France?” Sergio asked, a look of disdain crossed his face. “Why do you want to go to France?”

Cheryl frowned. “Well, the gist of the show is to feature a variety of locations. You know get the armchair traveler excited about visiting each place.”

“Armchair travelers don't actually travel,” I countered.

Cheryl whisked away my comment with a sweep of her hand. “You know what I mean. We need to showcase a variety of cultures.”