Murdered in Argentina: A Jack Trout Cozy Mystery (3 page)

“Lisa, forget the diet you’re always on,” Ray said. “So what if you gain a pound or two? Like you said, you probably won’t pass this way again, and it would be a shame not to enjoy the beef Argentina is known for. I mean when you think of Argentina, what comes to mind? If you’re like me, it’s gauchos, barbecues, and steak. We saw a gaucho riding a horse on the side of the highway a little while ago, and from now on, although the trout was wonderful, I’m going to enjoy the beef that Argentina is so famous for.”

“Time to go,” Jack said, accepting the bottle of chimichurri sauce the waiter handed him. “Jose, thank you. We’ll see you in a few months. As you know, you’re the first place we stop when we cross over the border, and we’re never sorry.” He turned to Ray, “Let’s get your fishing license, and then we need to drive to the lodge which is located on the other side of San Martin de Los Andes. By the time we get there the rest of your group should already be at the lodge, which by the way, is also a working cattle ranch. There’s a lake in front of the lodge, and we should have enough time before dinner to do a little casting. I can’t wait to see that bamboo rod and those flies.”

CHAPTER 4

As he boarded the big Boeing 787 Dreamliner commercial jet in Miami, Brad Dixon could barely contain his excitement now that he was finally on his way to Argentina. He sat down in the roomy business class section, glad he’d had to first attend a conference in Miami before leaving for Argentina. That way he didn’t have to fly with the other members of the Moving Graphics Company going on the trip. He wanted to spend part of the flight using his laptop computer to research the fishing gear his boss, Ray Martin, had told him he’d be bringing with him to Argentina.

People knew Brad Dixon was a fly fisherman, but what they didn’t know was that he had an extensive collection of antique fly fishing equipment. He regarded it as almost sacred, and he’d never shared it with anyone. When he wanted to bid on antique fly fishing items at an auction, he always had someone else bid for him. He did the same thing when he saw something he wanted in an antique shop or listed for sale online. He paid in cash, and no one knew that Brad Dixon was the ultimate buyer and possessed one of the most extensive and valuable collections of antique fly fishing equipment in the country.

He’d started collecting antique fly fishing gear after his father died. His father taught him how to fish when he was a young boy, and he’d impressed upon Brad the importance of catch and release fishing. His father was a fly fisherman, and that was the only type of fishing Brad had ever done. His memories of his father were precious, as his father died from throat cancer when Brad was in his late teens. Before he passed away, Brad and his father had formed a strong bond of which fly fishing was the cornerstone.

He smiled as he remembered the fishing trips he and his father had taken. By the time Brad was fifteen he’d been to Alaska and British Columbia several times, fly fishing for salmon, as well as fishing with his dad on most of the trophy trout streams in Montana and Wyoming. As the vice-president of a large oil company, disposable income was not a problem for Brad’s father.

Brad’s mother divorced his father when Brad was only two and left to find “her passion,” as his father called it. It became obvious to Brad when he got older that her passion had not included Brad or his father. He had no memory of her other than that of a woman who was in a couple of photographs his father had kept. After his father died, Brad threw them away.

When the stewardess announced they were flying at an altitude of 32,000 feet, and it was safe for passengers to turn on their laptops and other electronic items, he eagerly booted his up and began his search for the three types of antique fishing gear Ray had mentioned he’d be using when they fished in Argentina. He spent several hours learning all he could about those three things, namely (1) Winston split bamboo fly rods from the late 1920’s; (2) antique collector quality flies from the early 1900’s; and (3) Hardy Perfect fly rod reels, first produced in 1890.

When he was finished he sat back and tried to ignore what he was feeling. He ordered a scotch and water from the stewardess, hoping that would make the intense longing he was feeling go away or at least mask it. The drink didn’t help. If anything, it only intensified his desire to have the three things Ray owned added to his collection, which actually could be better described as a shrine to memorialize his father.

It’s very simple
, Brad thought.
I’ve got to have those three items. I don’t know how I’ll get them, but one way or another I will. Dad will be so happy when he looks down and sees them. He’ll be so proud of me.

He put a pillow behind his head, opened the blanket the stewardess had given him, and spread it out. In a few moments he was fast asleep, dreaming of the Winston rod, the box of flies, and the Hardy reel. A stewardess walking down the aisle wondered what was causing the man in seat 13C to smile so broadly in his sleep. It was better she didn’t know.

CHAPTER 5

“Gentlemen,” Janelle Byers said to her two fellow Moving Graphics colleagues as they stepped out of the SUV at the fishing lodge, “I enjoyed the flights and the dinner last night in Buenos Aires, but I’m really beat. I’m glad to be here, and right now taking a nap takes precedence over everything else. If I’m going to catch any fish, I need some rest. See you later.”

Manuel Diaz, one of the fishing guides at the lodge, opened the front door of the lodge for her and carried her luggage up the stairs to the room where she would be staying during the fishing trip. “If you need anything, Ms. Byers, please let one of the staff know,” Manuel said. “I hope you enjoy your stay, and I look forward to fishing with you.”

“Thank you, Manuel. I’m looking forward to fishing, but before I do anything, I need to call my fiancé and let him know that I’ve arrived safely.”

She took her phone out of the large leather tote bag she always carried with her when she traveled. It was large enough to easily accommodate her laptop and any other personal items she wanted to carry with her rather than ship them through in her luggage.

“Darling, how are you?” her fiancé, Andrew White asked when he answered his phone.

“I’m tired. As you know, we flew from San Francisco to Dallas and had a layover there of several hours, and then it was a ten-and-a-half-hour flight to Buenos Aires. Believe me, I was completely jet lagged. I joined Dean and Kevin for dinner at the hotel last night, and I think we were all in bed by 9:00. The South Americans eat much later than we Americans do, so we were the first ones in the restaurant which didn’t even open until 8:00. When we left, nearly an hour later, there were only a handful of customers in the restaurant, and it’s billed as one of the most popular in Buenos Aires. How’s my favorite wealth management banker doing? Have you had any luck raising the money to pay me back?”

It was very quiet on the other end of the phone, and Janelle knew what was coming. “Janelle, I’m trying, honestly I am. I know you’ve got to put the money back into the Moving Graphics bank account before anyone finds out it’s gone. At least having Ray in Argentina gives us a little breathing room.”

Janelle thought back to their conversation several weeks earlier which had led to this moment. Andrew had told her how he’d been taking money from the accounts of several of his clients in a Ponzi scheme much like the one Bernie Madoff had successfully pulled off for many years. He’d told her he’d invested the money in a start-up company in which a friend of his was involved. Andrew said his friend promised him he had so many people who wanted to invest in the company it would only be a matter of a couple of days until he could pay Andrew back the amount he’d invested plus a bonus of two hundred thousand dollars.

One of Andrew’s clients was a lawyer who had recently become semi-retired and decided he wanted to manage his own portfolio. He told Andrew he wanted to withdraw one million dollars from his account. The problem was Andrew didn’t have the funds to pay him. He’d skimmed money from the lawyer’s account and used it to invest in his friend’s start-up company. When he did it, he was sure his friend would repay him in a matter of only a few days, and he would get his investment back plus the two hundred thousand dollar promised bonus.

Much to Andrew’s dismay, his friend told him several of the people who were going to invest in the start-up company had backed out, and the repayment plus the bonus wouldn’t be paid for several months. Andrew was concerned that if his Ponzi scheme unraveled, he would almost certainly wind up in jail. Based on those concerns, he’d reluctantly told Janelle that even though he loved her, he thought it would be best to call off their wedding for now.

Janelle was deeply in love with Andrew White and thought at her age she’d been incredibly lucky to find him. He was ruggedly handsome, utterly charming, and connected to some of the most important people in San Francisco. She’d become used to going to the gala events that were often on his schedule. Rarely a week went by that they weren’t attending the opera, the symphony, fund raisers for politicians, or important art gallery openings. She loved her new life and had no intention of calling off the wedding, particularly since the invitations had already been sent. People would probably think she’d been jilted and left at the altar if the wedding was cancelled.

Transferring a million dollars from one of the many Moving Graphics bank accounts was a small price to pay for becoming the wife of Andrew White. As the head of the Finance Department for the company, she’d made some internal bookkeeping adjustments and transferred the money to Andrew, who promised it would be repaid in just a few days. The days had led to weeks, and she was becoming concerned that sooner or later, someone would question the disparate numbers in the accounting records of the company.

“Andrew, I’m sure you’re doing everything you can, but you’re going to have to speed it up. Ray Martin is not a stupid man. I’ve been able to cover the transfer so far, but I don’t think my luck will hold out much longer. He’s the only one who understands the numbers well enough to know what’s going on. I can handle everyone else, but I don’t want to spend my honeymoon looking out of a jail cell. You’ve got to convince your friend that it’s critical you get your money back. Actually, if you don’t, both of us might be spending our honeymoon in a jail cell.”

He sighed and said, “I’ll keep trying, sweetheart, but I have to admit I’m getting discouraged. Maybe we should do what I suggested before and call off our wedding until this is all behind us.”

“No, I’ll find a way. I don’t know how, but I’ll think about it while I’m down here. We’re going through with the wedding no matter what. I love you, Andrew, and I’m sure years from now we’ll look back and laugh at how important we thought this was. Now, I really need to get some sleep, but I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Love you too,” he said. “Sleep well and catch fish.”

CHAPTER 6

“Jack,” Ray said. “I’ve really been busy the last few months. I know you sent me all the information about the lodge where we’ll be staying, but I have to admit I only glanced at it, and it’s rather apparent Lisa hasn’t given it much thought. Give me a verbal walk-through, so I know what to expect.”

“Sure. It’s a large stone and wood constructed lodge located in the middle of a 10,000-acre cattle ranch. Large windows look out on the Patagonia, and since the lodge was built on a cattle ranch, during the day, gauchos, the South American cowboys, can often be seen riding their horses wearing colorful belted ponchos over loose fitting trousers with their leather whips and knives. Many of the people working on the ranch have followed in the footsteps of their parents and grandparents, being the third generation to do so.

“It’s considered to be the finest fishing lodge in Patagonia. We’re only a few miles from the charming little town of San Martin de Los Andes. We’ll pass through it on the way to the lodge. Sometimes there are people who come on these trips who don’t fish, almost always wives, so the owner has one of his employees drive those guests into town. It has wonderful restaurants and some great shops where there are many outstanding buying opportunities. Argentina is known for its leather goods.”

“I’m sure Lisa will like that. She’s never met a bargain she could pass up,” he said sarcastically.

“Thanks, Ray,” Lisa said. “Kind of like you never met some fishing thing you couldn’t do without.”

“Now let’s talk about the itinerary,” Jack said. “We’ll fish for the next three days. Although I’ve fished every one of these streams and lakes in the area many times, the Argentinian guides are the ones in charge. They know where the best places are to fish each day, and we’ll follow their lead. Usually we start by fishing the river that runs through the ranch property. Unless they haven’t been hooking any fish there, I imagine that’s where we’ll start tomorrow. After that, it’s pretty much up to the guides. I will say this, I’ve come to this lodge well over a dozen times, and there has never been a trip when the fishing hasn’t been excellent.”

“That’s music to my ears,” Ray said.

Jack drove through the town and pointed out the main park, the government building, and many restaurants and shops which lined the streets.

 “Actually,” he said, “the town kind of reminds me of a Colorado ski resort. There are several very high end hotels such as that one, La Cheminèe. We often reserve rooms there for clients when there aren’t enough rooms at the lodge.”

He turned off the main highway, and about twenty minutes later said, “There’s the lodge up ahead. You can see the lake in front of it. The lodge’s SUVs are here, so that means your guests must have arrived from Buenos Aires. I believe that’s where you told me they were going to spend last night, and then fly over here on the small commuter airline that serves the town.”