Tourist Trapped (15 page)

Already the din of the street pulsated to the backbeats of Lady Gaga. No restaurant would be caught dead with a mariachi band in this part of Cancun.

“Give me your door card. I’ll go ahead and make sure the room is in order.”

“Cooper, they have an amazing service in hotels called housekeeping. I suspect, by the time we return, my room will have magically transformed to look as if I hadn’t slept or showered there. It’s rather marvelous. Besides, what kind of slob do you think I am? Beer bottles strewn across the floor and tortilla chips smashed into the sheets? Maybe I’ve dragged a mattress onto the balcony to sleep to the sound of the ocean? What are you worried about?”

“I think we should keep our information in a single spot and right now it’s spread across both rooms. If they start sifting through it, we might end up going backward.”

A bus stopped behind them, spewing a horde of tourists. The mass spread out, searching for restaurants and shops. Many headed straight for the exclusive stores in the Forum, while others opted for the traditional open-air Mexican market across the boulevard.

“My father may be a good businessman, but he won’t be able to analyze the stuff we’ve found. As we saw this morning, he’ll work himself up about silly things—like whether we should talk to the fisherman’s wife.”

“Amanda, I don’t want to upset you, but my gut tells me something’s amiss.”

“First ‘damned peculiar’ and now ‘something’s amiss?’ Is Sherlock Holmes required reading for your ilk?” She checked out the restaurant’s doorway. Still no Miriam. “What has you so bothered?”

“Your father. His annoyance about our visit to Señora Hernandez and his reaction to the pictures we showed the waiter—not to mention his outrage toward Felipe’s comments about Trent. And did you notice Miriam? She didn’t flinch. It’s evident Rebecca’s shared her woes with her mom. Wouldn’t her dad know too?”

“I suppose, but why does that have you on edge?”

“It may be best not to share everything with your father. He wouldn’t be too happy to know that we’re continuing to investigate without the police.”

Cooper had a good point. Based on Dad’s comments over lunch, he’d blow like Old Faithful if he saw their piles of data. Although they suspected Cooper’s PI was right, that the interlopers could access their rooms, Cooper and Amanda left out items they figured the kidnappers wouldn’t care about. It was too much of a hassle to try to stuff it all into their safes and besides, the goons planted a lot of it themselves and may have access to anyplace.

“For the first twenty-one years of my life, I thought I knew my father, inside and out. Then he told us about Miriam and Rebecca. Since then, my father’s been a stranger to me. Go ahead, follow your instincts.”

“I’ll head back and consolidate all of the evidence in my room.”

Evidence?
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re more than a techie twerp. There’s something you are not telling me. You’re too good at this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The background on Trent and Rebecca…you didn’t get that from our investigative team, did you? And the address for Rosa Hernandez—you still haven’t explained this mysterious ‘Fozzy’ thing.”

“You know that soap opera life I mentioned? It’s required a bit of sleuthing over many years. Once we find Rebecca, I’ll tell you the story over a few cervezas frías.”

“So, you truly are a Sherlock wannabe.” She dug in her sisal bag, pulled out the room card and handed it to him. “I’ll delay them and hopefully take our stalker with me. We’ll wander through the Forum shops for a bit before returning. Maybe I can help Miriam shop for a personality.”

He took the card and pecked her on the cheek. “Thanks for trusting me—and take it easy on Miriam. She already resembles fifty miles of bad road.”

Another bus stopped in front of them and he jumped on, bypassing the line of taxis.

Cheapskate.
She touched her cheek.

EIGHTEEN

Sunday December 13, Late Afternoon

Amanda fixated on
the ocean view while she stood in “Fiasco Royale’s” lobby, waiting for Cooper to finish a call with his hacker buddy. The cavernous room’s heavy, ornate decor felt oppressive, almost claustrophobic. Was there a disease, garishophobia?

Miraculously, they had been able to book a charter for the following day on a decent boat, big enough to venture out to sea if necessary. Second time on their trip a cancellation worked in their favor. Were the kidnappers behind the arrangements? She didn’t know real from manipulated. They could only charge forward—and try not to trip.

She set down a mesh bag of snorkeling equipment. Cooper and Amanda had decided they might need to inspect a boat unnoticed, or something underwater. She shuddered, tossing off the image of Rebecca and Trent’s bloated bodies anchored to the ocean floor.

“Thanks, nice work.” Cooper slipped the phone into the pocket of his shorts. “Art says our mysterious Nicolas Fischer is an official employee of Command Commodities. Want to know his background?”

“Pimping?”

“Nah, not that classy. Lobbyist. He’s worked for the drug, tobacco and banking industries.”

“And now he’s venturing into agribusiness.”

“Art’s focusing in on this guy, maybe finding connections to Harding more easily, as Señor Fischer isn’t trying to hide.”

They squeezed into the elevator, alongside a family with five waterlogged, screeching children. To Amanda’s relief, when she and Cooper got off on the fourth floor, the ankle-biters continued riding up.

“My brain hurts; it’s time to kill off a few cells. Let’s grab a beer.” She used the spare card to open her door and found Miriam cross-legged on the bed, alone, clasping a photo from Rebecca’s wedding. Amanda hadn’t attended.

“Please, tell me what you know. I’m going crazy wondering where she is,” Miriam said.

“We’ve checked out a number of tourist spots and confirmed their visits, but nothing of note took place. It sounds as if Trent got into a little scuffle at one nightclub, but no charges were filed and he left the premises in one piece,” Cooper said.

“Where else did they go?”

“Rebecca swam with the dolphins, they took a catamaran to Isla Mujeres and then they went on the fishing charter.”

Cooper handled the old broad well.

“When do you think they went missing?”

“No one has seen them since the fishing trip and from what we can tell, the boat also hasn’t turned up. That’s about all we know.”

Miriam gripped the picture so tightly it wrinkled. “Becky, sweetheart, where are you?”

Cooper sat on the bed and wrapped his arm around the woman’s hunched shoulders. She collapsed like a beached jellyfish, dropping her head to his chest and sobbing. He rocked her and let Miriam surrender to her emotions. Her body spasmed and she howled in agony, continually uttering “My baby,” the words barely recognizable.

Amanda choked back her own tears. The madwoman, the harlot who’d stolen her father, was a mother reeling from the disappearance of her child. Poor Miriam was about to implode.

After a time, the woman regained her composure. Amanda grabbed a handful of tissues and laid them in Miriam’s lap, and then pulled a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge and handed it to her.

Amanda knelt on the floor next to the bed and rubbed Miriam’s scrawny knee. “We’re going to find Rebecca. I was smart enough to bring along Cooper, and he’s been a godsend. With or without the help of the police, we will find your daughter.”

Miriam covered Amanda’s hand with a frigid palm. “Thank you. I know this has been hard for you. I’m so grateful you’re willing help—and you too, Chad.” She wiped her eyes, patted back her hair, and smoothed out the wedding picture. Cooper helped her off of the bed.

Amanda’s father walked in. “Our room is down the hall from Trent and Rebecca’s. Miriam, let’s unpack and then we can meet up with you two for dinner.” He pointed at Amanda and Cooper. “I made reservations for four at Harry’s Steakhouse.”

Shit. The southern hotel zone again.

“Dad, thanks for the offer, but I’m beat. I’d rather stay here and reexamine the information. Cooper, feel free to join them.”

“Thanks, Don, but I agree with Amanda. I want to review what we know at this point.”

A hue, the color of a ripe beet, started up her father’s face and worked its way to his eyeballs. “Didn’t you hear a word I said today? Stop playing detective. It’s too dangerous. We need to work with the police.”

“We’re not planning to hop into a taxi and follow some thug around Cancun. We’re going to sit in a hotel room and look over pictures and receipts. Okay?”

As fast as a chameleon, her dad’s skin switched to a lighter pink. “I guess that’s fine—as long as you report anything you discover to the authorities and let them follow up.”

“Fine.”

“Fine, then.” His eyebrows gathered together. “But how about tomorrow?”

“Cooper and I are taking your advice, getting some ‘R and R.’ We’re going boating. No talking with the wives of missing yacht captains. Spending a day on the water.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed. “You’re up to something. You never take my advice. What do you have up your sleeve?”

“I’ve never gone snorkeling. Amanda promised to teach me.”

Nice save, Cooper.

“Teach you? You throw on flippers and a mask and you breathe through a tube,” her father sputtered. “What’s to learn?”

“Donny!” Miriam awakened from the dead.

“Well, when I took you the first time I didn’t have to teach you. You jumped in and—and snorkeled,” her father said.

“So it’s settled then. Cooper and I will go our own way tomorrow and catch up with you for dinner,” Amanda said.

Miriam’s lip trembled. She lowered her head and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. She raised her sorrowful stare and looked at Cooper. He winked at her. She cocked her head for a moment and then grasped his signal.

“Eat a good dinner tonight, Miriam. We’ll need you ready for action,” Cooper said.

She sighed so deeply it had to come from her toes, then squared her shoulders and smiled. “I’ll do that, Chad. Thank you.” Crumpled wedding photo in hand, she followed her husband out the door.

“C’mon, let’s get that beer.” Cooper took Amanda’s hand and led her next door.

The audacity of his gesture surprised her, but before she could react, Amanda entered a room that looked like the headquarters of a counterinsurgency: notes, pictures, and maps covered every surface, including the mirrors.

Amanda whispered, “Holy crap. Are you former CIA? FBI?”

“No, just a DBA.”

“A DBA with one heck of a hobby.”

Cooper fiddled with his iPod and a moment later Johnny Cash lamented the woes of Fulsom Prison. “Figure we can remind our listening audience where their destinies lie.”

He pulled two beers out of the mini-bar, twisted off the caps and escorted Amanda to the balcony, handing a bottle to her. She glanced up at the end room on the fifth floor. Nobody in sight.

Amanda sunk into a patio chair and slipped off her sandals. She rested her feet on the bottom railing and let the warm breeze dance across her skin while she drank the Dos Equis. Thankfully the afternoon poolside entertainment had wrapped up so the sounds of the light surf reached the balcony. She relaxed to the rhythms of the waves and the tropical songs of the grackles and mockingbirds.

Although a schizophrenic with a split personality must have decorated the hotel, Amanda adored the balcony view. The contrast of white structures against the blue tones of the pools and the sea soothed her nerves like aloe on a sunburn.

Paradise, but not for them. “Cooper, I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess. I thought we’d fly down, make a few stops, straighten out the confusion and be back in Chicago by Saturday night—today at the latest. If you need to return because of family commitments, I understand. Your help has been invaluable, but I realize you have other responsibilities, as well.”

“Thanks, Boss, but I can stay a few more days. At some point I may have to fly back without much warning, but in the meantime, I’m at your service.”

A bright green gecko sat on the edge of the balcony, indifferent to their presence. Below them swimmers and sun worshipers gathered their belongings and headed in to shower before dinner, relinquishing the beach to the pelicans and gulls until morning.

“So, Sherlock, tomorrow we set sail for a little ‘R and R’ which, in your world, translates to ‘research and reconnaissance.’”

“How about a little reconnaissance tonight? I want to see who’s holed up at the Hernandez residence,” Cooper said.

“How thrilling. Spending the evening in a stuffy car, parked smack-dab in the middle of one of Cancun’s residential districts. And they say techies don’t know how to party.”

* * *

“Unless we camp
out on the front lawn, this is the best we’ll do,” Amanda said as she parked the car a half block away from the Hernandez residence. She opened the windows and shut off the engine. A warm breeze blew in, settling a layer of moisture over her cool skin.

Cooper raised a pair of binoculars to his face. “Looks quiet, but I can’t see much besides the front door from this angle.”

“As I said, there’s the spot on the front lawn…”

“I get it, we can’t park closer. Once the sun goes down, if we don’t see anything, I’ll walk the block.”

“Perfect. An Americano wandering the neighborhood, blending in with the throng of other tourists walking through this part of town.”

“I’ll wear my cap low.”

“So you can fit in with all of the other locals donning Cancun hats? Sherlock, you’re losing your edge.”

“Unless you have another idea, it’s the best we’ve got.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

The setting sun laid long shadows across the front yards squeezed between the rows of apartments on both sides of the street. A few kids rode battered bicycles or skateboards up and down the road. Men trudged along the sidewalks, some greeting children before entering their homes. None of the men walked up to the Hernandez door.

“Think anyone’s in there right now?”

“Time will tell,” Cooper said.

The activities quieted as night approached and families sat down for dinner. Insects sang over the echoes of downtown traffic. The aroma of spiced meat floated through the car, and Amanda’s empty stomach growled. She searched through her tote until she found a small bag of peanuts.

Amanda ripped open the package and offered some to Cooper. “Cacahuates?”

“Ca-ca what?”

“Peanuts.”

He peered into the bag. “They look funny. What’s on them?”

“They’re lime flavored.”

“Of course, to go with the Margaritas.”

Darkness settled over the neighborhood. Windows glowed, some of them emitting a kaleidoscope of colors from televisions. Street lights offered the occasional circle of illumination.

People emerged from the homes. Adults strolled down the sidewalk, greeting others and catching up on the day’s events. Children played tag, running across the front yards.

“We’ve got action,” Cooper said.

Three people shuffled out of the front door of Rosa and Hector’s place. They sat down on the front stoop.

“It’s Rosa and an older couple.” He offered Amanda the binoculars.

She adjusted them, focusing on Rosa. The woman sat on the lower step. Two mature adults sat above her, a wrinkled, gray-haired pair. Neighbors congregated around them, blocking the view.

“Do you think one of them could have been at the window?” Amanda handed the binoculars back to Cooper.

“Possibly.” He raised the binoculars. “The neighbors seem to like them.”

“Maybe they’re offering support—missing husband and all.”

A police car eased up the street and parked in front of the Hernandez residence. A uniformed officer, carrying some documents, hopped out and sauntered up to Rosa. The crowd parted to let him in and then dissipated.

“What’s he got?”

“Can’t tell—wait, I think it’s the police report. All two pages of it. He’s showing it to her.”

The trio and the officer entered the house.

“Think they found something? New evidence?” Amanda said.

“Based on our experience with the local police, if they have a lead, we’re guaranteed to be the last to know.”

* * *

“It’s just a
matter of time before Dad pays the ransom,” Rebecca said. “We’ll be out of here any day.” She rested against Trent in the dim, dusk light, his bruised and bloody arms encircling her. “I bet, right now, he’s making arrangements to free us. How quickly do you think we’ll be released?”

“I don’t know, Rebecca, it might take a few more days—I’m guessing it’s going to cost Don and Miriam a ton of money. This must be a serious operation to ship us to Belize.”

“Why us, Trent?”

“Could be because we chartered a private boat. Not a lot of witnesses in the middle of the ocean.”

“They won’t kill us, will they?”

“I sure hope not.” Trent looked up at the walls. “I wonder…maybe we can escape. Do you think you can reach the vent if I give you a boost? See if you can push out the wire and wriggle through.” He released her and stood up. “It’s pretty high and it’s a small opening, but are you game?”

Rebecca’s heart fluttered with the mere thought of escaping the hut. “Yes, help me.”

He intertwined his fingers and bent down. She slipped her foot into his hands and leaned on his shoulders while he straightened.

She reached the screen, but couldn’t budge it. Screws fastened down the mesh. Without any tools, she couldn’t move the damned thing a millimeter. She yanked at the metal and her hand slipped, knocking her off balance. She fell backward, toppling off of Trent and banging her head into the door.

Shouts came from outside. The door swung open and two men rushed into the doorway, waving their rifles. Her husband backed against the wall and raised his hands high. “Rebecca, do the same.”

She complied. The men stared at the two of them and then grabbed Trent by the shirt and pulled him out of the building.