Sweetheart Deal (5 page)

Or stupid …

Then again, this show was centered on us as a wholesome, frugal family, and this episode in particular was about the blissful, blessed sanctity of marriage. It was one thing for the show's handlers to mess with a little makeup or even a dress seam to make a point; a secret cheating subplot written in by someone to spice things up didn't make sense.

Not demographically, anyway.

Still, I wasn't keen on watching an upcoming episode filled with Frankenbites
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of me looking like I'd fallen victim to Alejandro's
not-at
-all uncertain charms while poor
born-again
-innocent Frank looked on helplessly.

I grabbed a pen that had been conveniently left on a table outside the salon, scrawled a message of my own on the backside of the note, and headed down the hall before the ceremony started to give it to the concierge to return to Alejandro:

I'm afraid that I'm a happily married woman.

Given the show was less about the wedding “reveal,” and more a how-to about putting on a discount destination wedding, there was only one lovely, stunningly scenic, tear-rending take of the ceremony itself. Everyone flawlessly executed their parts, from Elena giving last-
minute directives to the bridal party strolling in perfect time with the harpist's strums. Even the seabirds somehow cawed more softly and the turquoise waves lapped especially gently in the background.

As Anastasia, gorgeous and resplendent, strolled down the aisle on the arm of her father and joined Philip beneath the altar festooned with locally sourced flowers, love infused the light breeze. With all teary eyes trained on the clearly besotted couple, I felt much less like the de facto maid of honor in a reality show spectacle and a lot more like a costar in a magical, romantic movie.

By the time the minister announced Philip and Anastasia as husband and wife and invited them to share a kiss, I'd even begun to believe in the potential sanctity of marriage once again. So much so that as I walked down the aisle on Frank's arm, I felt, for the first time, as if our strained and tenuous balance as faux spouses could actually give way to a successful
on-screen
partnership as Mr. and Mrs. Frugalicious.

My tranquility continued through the pictures and into cocktail hour. And it might have lasted through the evening had I not spotted Ivan the activities director, whose current
number-one
activity seemed to be courting Eloise. He smiled and she waved me over to where the two of them stood beside a palm tree at the edge of the veranda outside of the dining area.

“Ivan just told me there are going to be fireworks later on tonight down at the beach,” Eloise said.

“We have a pyrotechnics expert on staff that does them the first weekend of every month,” Ivan said, as if to explain that the fireworks were not just of the romantic variety.

“It's okay if I go,” Eloise asked, looking
moony-eyed
, “right?”

“As long as the reception is over and Geo doesn't need you or us for anything.”

“It won't start until dark,” Ivan said.

“And there's nothing on my call sheet after eight p.m.,” Eloise added.

“Then great,” I said. “But don't stay out too late. We'll probably have an early call in the morning.”

“So we're getting the timeshare, aren't we?” Eloise asked, smiling at Ivan.

Bothered that I hadn't researched as much as I'd have liked to, but promising myself I'd provide the Frugarmy with a thoroughly researched blog before the episode aired, I nodded.

“Yay!” Eloise said, throwing her arms around me. “I love this place!”

“Which reminds me …” Ivan said.

My heart skipped a beat once again as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sealed
peach-colored
envelope.

“Alejandro told me to give this to you.”

“Frank?” I whispered as we finished shooting our
5:00 p.m.: Stolen postwedding kiss.
“Have you ever mentioned anything, even in passing, to anyone about our marital situation?”

“Course not,” he said. “Why?”

The truth wasn't a particularly sensible option at the moment:
That note last night was actually from Alejandro wanting to have drinks with me. Which leads me to wonder if …?

“No reason, really,” I said, hastily concocting a white lie and thinking about the contents of his most recent note:
It's just a drink
…“It's just that I overheard someone on the crew saying something about a marriage of convenience or something and I was a little concerned they might be talking about us.”

“As though our situation is convenient?”

“Good point,” I said, and proceeded to play dutiful matron of honor and loving wife to the best man through dinner and a seemingly endless round of toasts.

“Susan and Michael look like chickens doing a mating dance out there,” Face said as she, Body, and I, sat together observing Hair and her hubby out on the dance floor. “Don't you think?”

“Maybe they'll get some new moves when they get a gander of how embarrassing they look on TV,” Body said.

“Not as embarrassing as the whole world seeing you in that god­awful eye shadow and lipstick,” Face said.

“I don't think your sister and her husband look all that bad, but I have to admit, that was quite a makeup job,” I said rubbing my blistered, slightly pink feet.

“Stasia said it wouldn't be that bad, but—”

“You knew?”

“Pretty good acting, huh?” Face asked.

“She warned us that television is
visual,”
Body said.
“And to expect examples—”

“To pique and maintain viewer interest,” Face finished. “Starring me.”

“I see,” I said, my blood pressure suddenly ticking upwards once again.

Just then, the music shifted from Michael Jackson's “Rock with You” into something a little more sultry and a lot more
stripper-esque
. Dave, the handsome groomsman, started across the dance floor toward Body.

“This weekend is turning out better than I expected!” Body said.

As Dave reached out his hand and led Body out on the dance floor in full view of the camera, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I knew Anastasia well enough to know she wasn't averse to a little drama, nor to doing whatever it took to frame a story. I also knew
The Family Frugalicious
was her brainchild. It made sense that she'd tipped off her sisters about piquing viewer interest without telling them exactly how it would be done. It also made sense that Anastasia wouldn't let get herself hung up on drama unrelated to the overall vibe of the show.

I allowed myself to believe exactly that through my scheduled dances, as the bride and groom pressed cake into each other's faces, and while I watched from the sidelines as the single women collected for the bouquet toss.

It wasn't until Anastasia checked to see if the cameraman was ready, took a peek over her shoulder, and heaved the flowers into what seemed to be Body's direction that I began to wonder again.

Particularly when the bouquet went over her sister's head and landed directly in my hands.

With Geo's wry smile from beside the camera, I looked across the pool toward the lights and music coming from the bar area. No way was I falling into the trap of being caught on tape with Alejandro, but I had to find out just exactly what his intentions were—and if they were even
his
to begin with.

Besides, I needed a fresh drink.

I scanned the area. One camera crew was over at catering, a second was following the boys around on their quest to
meet cute señoritas
(as suggested by Frank and embraced primarily by Trent), and the third was set up by the bar where Philip, Frank, and the
groomsmen were scheduled for an
8:40 p.m.: Celebratory tequila shot.
I seized the opportunity to approach Alejandro early by excusing myself to “freshen my lipstick.”

I'd crossed the dance floor and was on my way to the ladies' room by way of the Poolside Bar when “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” ended.

The DJ spoke into the microphone in a lilting accent. “Bridesmaids and groomsmen, if you would please proceed to the Estanque Reflectante
for an evening group photo.”

“What a perfectly glorious day,” Frank said, his breath smelling of garlic and tequila. “Everything's gone exactly as planned.”

Speak for yourself
, I thought. He wrapped an arm around my waist as though we were alone and unaccompanied by the camera that had trailed him over to me. He led me away from the answers I sought at the Poolside Bar and toward the smallest, most intimate of the Hacienda de la Fortuna's five swimming pools.

We were halfway across the footbridge when a horrified,
high-pitched
shriek filled the humid evening air.

Anastasia's sisters, who had rounded the bend to the pool area ahead of us, joined the chorus.

Seeing as I'd been part and party to not one but two murders in the past year, I shouldn't have been all that shocked. But with the silhouette of a body floating facedown in the moonlit,
Olympic-size
reflection pond, I let out a scream of my own.

Particularly when I spotted the telltale Hacienda de la Fortuna polo, khakis and, the thick brown hair fanning out in the water.

Alejandro.

five

Once again I found
myself staring into the gruesome face of death as an off-duty, whistle-less,
salvavida
dove into the pool, towed Alejandro to the side, and began to administer CPR on the pool deck.

That
all-too
-familiar sick feeling engulfed me like a weighty blanket as I stood helplessly among the unfamiliar swirl of rescue personnel that materialized around us. While the
paramédicos
set about the awful business of trying to revive Alejandro and the
policía
did whatever it was they did in such a situation, the cameraman who'd followed Frank and I from the reception area captured the awful tableau.

Complete with proper lighting even, thanks to the wedding photo shoot that was supposed to have been taking place.
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Anastasia immediately (albeit proverbially) traded her veil for her television journalist's cap and took over directorial duties for Geo, who I'd last seen headed for the crew buffet.

Instead of morphing into reporter mode, Frank pulled me in close. Then again, we were on camera and he had the
all-consuming
goal of polishing his tarnished image as respected family man.

A half hour earlier I'd have thought the mere idea that I could, once again, be suspecting Frank and/or Anastasia of being involved in a murder impossible. Beyond farfetched. Then again, a
half-hour
earlier I was merely concerned that I was being set up (and not in the right way) with a man who was now utterly lifeless.

As one of the
paramédicos
shook his head in recognition of the futility of his efforts, I wondered what might (or might not) have happened had I agreed right away to meet Alejandro for a drink. A twinge of guilt added a twist to the already numbing cocktail of shock and horror I found myself drinking in great gulps.

Would he still be alive if I'd been there?

“What are the police saying?” I asked Philip as he joined up with us after conferring with the officers on scene.

“They spoke so fast I couldn't really keep up with the Spanish.” Philip, whose job as the acting chief of the South Metro Denver Police had him at the scene of tragic incidents on a daily basis, seemed as
shell-shocked
as anyone.

“Terrible,” Frank said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Just terrible.”

Face, Body, and Hair stood on my other side huddled together, shaking their heads in unison.

“I can't believe this,” Face said, her perfect makeup streaked with tears.

“We were supposed to meet with him tomorrow,” Hair wailed into her husband's shoulder.

“This is definitely not how things were supposed to happen today,” Body added, as Dave the handsome groomsmen slipped a comforting arm around her shoulder.

As they continued to hug and weep, there was no denying that things had definitely taken a truly disturbing turn.

But was it a completely unexpected turn?

Seeing as Frank had been the one who'd talked me into expanding my horizons beyond the relative obscurity and safety of the cyber world and into the great unknown of reality TV, and there was no denying that
The Family Frugalicious
had been partly his idea to begin with, wasn't he as likely to be in the know about any story line detours as anyone else on set? While I couldn't blurt my growing irrational fear that Alejandro's death was somehow connected to the show, I needed to gauge his reaction with a question or two.

“Frank,” I whispered, my heart suddenly thumping as the police began to tape off the area to keep back the hotel staff, wedding guests, and assorted onlookers who'd begun to filter onto the pool deck as word of the incident spread around the resort. “How do you suppose this will affect the shoot?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes downcast, ostensibly because Alejandro was being placed on a gurney.

“I mean, Alejandro was part of the story line, wasn't he?”

“How can you think about that at a time like this?” he said, dramatically. “It's sick.”

I couldn't have agreed more. Nauseating as the whole situation was (including Frank's too noncommittal to be entirely noncommittal answer), I didn't feel like I was truly going to throw up until fireworks began to light up the night sky and bursts of color reflected off the white sheet covering Alejandro's body.

Over the boom and crackle of exploding pyrotechnics, I swore I could hear someone from the behind me say, “Money shot!”
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