Tourist Trapped (20 page)

TWENTY-FOUR

Tuesday December 15, Afternoon

After circling Isla
Contoy and Isla Mujeres, and sweeping the southern coastline through Playa del Carmen, the boat motored toward Cancun. Two days on the water and no sign of the Ocean Fox. The lack of new information frustrated Chad as much as Amanda. Did the kidnappers sink the boat to eliminate the evidence? Had they trailered the watercraft and dry docked it somewhere outside the Yucatán?

“We’ve tried everywhere I can think of, señora,” Juan said. “We would need to sail farther up and down the coast and check out Cozumel. Each trip takes at least a day.”

Amanda studied her watch. “We’re less than sixty hours away from the deadline. Three options, three days. We barely have two.”

“Lo siento, we have a charter scheduled for tomorrow,” Juan said. “If you want to go out again, I’ll find you another boat.”

“We need another approach,” Chad said. “I don’t know what, but we need it.”

“I agree. Juan, our needle in the haystack will have to stay lost for now.” Amanda’s disposable phone rang. “Hi, Jaz.”

While Amanda chatted with her assistant, Chad helped Tito pick up empty beer bottles and soda cans, and continued to scan the water for potential boats.

After a short conversation, Amanda said, “Have a great time tonight, Jaz, and let me know how your date goes. He sounds like a catch.”

They neared the Punta Nizuc coral reef. Snorkelers floated on the surface, their flippers churning the water. Clusters of empty two-seater boats and wave runners bordered the area.

“Do you want to stop?” Juan said. “Tito would be happy to be your guide.”

On the catamaran, Chad had envied the snorkelers who hopped into the beautiful waters—even with the prospect of flippers repeatedly thwacking him in the noggin. “Thanks, but we have serious business. I can’t jump in for a quick swim.”

“Why not? It would be a shame if you didn’t get a chance to snorkel while you’re down here—especially since it’s on our way back to shore,” Amanda said. “We don’t have much in the way of leads, so it’s not as if we need to rush back. Without the Ocean Fox, we’re dead in the water.”

The three of them changed into their swimsuits and strapped on goggles while Juan maneuvered the boat closer to the reef. To Chad’s relief, they donned life vests in the normal fashion.

“One more thing.” Tito held up three wristbands. “You need to wear one of these to show we’ve paid the tax.”

“Don’t want to do anything illegal,” Chad said.

They hopped onto the swim platform, slipped into their flippers, and plopped into the water.

Chad adjusted the goggles over his glasses and checked his snorkel, remembering Don’s comments.

“Ready?” Tito said.

Chad nodded.

The first mate led the way.

Chad dipped his face into the ocean. Water lapping against his ears muffled everything but his breathing through the plastic tube. He bent down and a mouthful of water startled him. He spit out the mouthpiece and coughed up a spray of moisture.

Mental note: snorkel sits perpendicular to my face.
He readjusted the mouthpiece, blew out the water and tried again.

At first the sea bottom resembled an underwater desert, but with each kick of his flippers more life appeared. First he spied sea grass, a few brightly colored fish and an occasional fan coral. Amanda pointed at the bottom where a stingray sat with a dusting of sand over him.

With a few more kicks, brain coral and other types came into view and a pandemonium of fish—neon orange and yellow, white, black, gray and electric blue. Some were solid, others spotted and yet others had vertical or horizontal stripes. Some sported a combination of patterns. How did God come up with so many types? The fish swam in all directions.

The reef rose in front of him, like waves of rock, covered in animal life. The more delicate corals and sea anemones bent and swayed with the currents, reminding Chad of his backyard bushes on a gusty day.

More fish swam into view—some were broad and square, and one type had a bright mouth in a different color than its face, like it wore lipstick.

Amanda tapped Chad on the shoulder and pointed down again. A flounder, with its two eyes on one side of its body, rested on the ocean floor.

Tito waved them over and pointed at something, but Chad couldn’t spot it. After a moment he caught movement—an octopus had blended into his surroundings. It must have sensed the jig was up and skimmed along the bottom, its sides curling like a frill.

Tito swam ahead, but Amanda stayed close, pointing out creatures not as easily seen as the brilliant-colored fish: squid, crabs and sea urchins. She also pointed to a barracuda in the distance.

Chad fell for this beautiful, mysterious other world and thought about how much his kids would love the experience. But, in his mind, the woman beside him on the trip was no longer Danielle, it was Amanda.

Their guide swam over, gesticulating and pointing. Amanda and Chad followed, swimming beyond the reef, into an area where sea grass covered the ocean floor.

Tito pointed at the hull of a sunken dinghy. He dove down and pulled a waterlogged life ring from beneath the edge of the submerged boat. “Ocean Fox” was printed on one side.

He surfaced and Amanda and Chad followed suit.

Amanda spit out the end of her snorkel. “We have to see what else is under that boat.” Beneath her tan, the blood had drained from her face. “Tito, can you help me turn it over?”

“I’ll help Tito,” Chad said.

“Cooper, you don’t know—”

“I’m fully capable of holding my breath. You are not going down there until we know what’s beneath that hull.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the police?” Tito asked.

“Who knows how long it’ll take them? And what will they allow us to view?” Chad said as he pulled off his life jacket. “We need to see for ourselves if anything else is under there.”
Or anyone.

Chad and Tito took a series of deep breaths, then dove down ten feet to the boat. Chad braced himself for the prospect of bodies, knowing the corpses would provide fodder for crabs and other scavengers.

The men grabbed the ends of the dinghy and flipped it to the side. The oars, still attached, flapped in the water. A tote bag, a White Sox T-shirt, and two beach towels sat on the sea bottom.

Although his lungs burned, begging for air, relief washed over Chad so forcefully he inhaled a slosh of water. He bulleted to the surface as his cough reflex kicked in.

Air. He gulped it in before his lungs forced up the briny solution. Amanda handed him the life ring. “Thanks Cooper.”

She dove under as Chad coughed up the last bits of spray.

Tito’s head rose above the water. “Chad, can you hold these?”

Chad stuck his face in the water and grabbed the towels and T-shirt Tito held out. He saw Amanda swim up with the bag.

“I want to make sure we didn’t miss anything else,” Tito said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Amanda’s head popped up and she filled her lungs with fresh air. A few moments later Tito resurfaced.

“I didn’t see anything else,” Tito said. “I think we got all of it.”

“There’s no doubt, now,” Amanda said. “Our answers lie with the Ocean Fox. Wherever it is.”

* * *

Amanda examined the
soggy items one more time, but nothing pointed to a locale for Rebecca and Trent.

Cooper spread out the inventory on the deck and snapped pictures: comb, tube of sunscreen, paperback, Bears baseball cap, polo shirt, pocketbook.

“No camera,” Cooper said.

“What?” Amanda dug through the sandy sludge at the bottom of the tote bag.

“We thought maybe they had taken along a cheaper camera. I don’t see one.”

“We don’t know if these are all of their possessions. Maybe the kidnappers kept the camera.”

“I suppose…but I still find it peculiar Trent and Rebecca left the camera in the room.”

“Don’t you mean ‘damned peculiar?’” After realizing no bodies had been stashed beneath the dinghy, Amanda felt a lightness that made her almost giddy.

In the few moments of waiting while Cooper and Tito turned over the boat, Amanda had braced herself, dreading breaking the news to her father and Miriam if they had found Rebecca and Trent dead. So much sorrow. Amanda realized she couldn’t accept such an outcome. Whatever it took, she would retrieve her sister and brother-in-law from their captors.

Amanda finished sifting through the sand in the bottom of the tote bag. “Anything else we need to look over before I call Rodriguez?”

“No, I think we can hand it over to the inept authorities,” Cooper said.

She dialed and asked for the lieutenant.

“Buenas tardes. Esto es Rodriguez.”

“This is Amanda Sloane. We found some possessions we think belong to Rebecca and Trent Adams. They were beneath a scuttled dinghy near the Punta Nizuc reef at the jungle tours site.”

“What?”

“Near the jungle tours snorkeling site. We found a submerged boat. Some items underneath it probably belong to Rebecca and Trent.”

“How can you connect the stuff to the missing couple?”

“Because we found a life ring with ‘Ocean Fox’ printed on it alongside the items.”

No response. Amanda waited for a moment before checking to see if she lost the connection.

“Salma, tell Nunez I want to see him,” Rodriguez said. “Señora Sloane, where are you now?”

“At the site. We have the items in the boat.”

“You removed them from their location?”

“We wanted to confirm our suspicions before calling.”

“We’re on our way.”

Amanda hung up and helped Cooper and Tito pack the items.

“I wish we had a waterproof camera,” Cooper said. “I’d like to get some photos of the dinghy.”

“Juan, can Señor Chad borrow your camera? To take pictures of the boat?” Tito asked.

“Sí, por supuesto. One moment.” Juan climbed down from the flybridge and entered the cabin. A few minutes later he came out, holding a small camera.

Cooper and Tito slipped on flippers and masks and swam toward the site of the submerged boat.

Amanda jotted down some notes: a list of the items they found, details about the site and its location, a description of the dinghy. A dark thought danced at the edge of her psyche. Could the kidnappers have scuttled the Ocean Fox? Is that the reason Amanda and Cooper failed to find the yacht?

She stowed her notepad. She needed something to keep her busy. Amanda washed the lunch dishes, wiped down the cabin counters and swept up the sand on the deck. Juan kept a pair of binoculars fixed on Cooper and Tito.

A small, nondescript motor boat pulled alongside the yacht. Rodriguez and another uniformed officer tied up to Juan’s boat and swung over the gunwale, onto the deck.

“This is Officer Jaramillo,” Rodriguez said.

“Señora Sloane, I’m sorry we are meeting in such sad circumstances,” Jaramillo said. “I hope this discovery will give us the lead we need to find your family members.”

Amanda shook the policeman’s hand. “Thank you, Officer Jaramillo. I, too, hope we can find my sister and her husband quickly.” She pointed toward the corner. “Those are the items.”

“Where did you find them?” Rodriguez asked.

“My first mate and Señor Cooper are swimming the area.” Juan raised the binoculars and focused them on the snorkelers. “There.”

Rodriguez gazed into the binoculars. “Los veo. Gracias.” He stepped away. “Jaramillo, put the evidence in our boat. We’ll meet up with the swimmers to determine the location so we can call in our divers. Let’s go.”

Amanda watched as the boat cruised toward Cooper and Tito. Would the divers uncover more than a sunken dinghy?

* * *

Vince’s scalp itched
beneath the toupee, and the edges of the glued-on goatee threatened to peel. He kept smoothing it down as he sat in a beat-up PT Cruiser, watching the front doors of the library. Sally and Fozzy staked out two other libraries in Portland, Oregon, the location Fozzy and his nephew, Austin, had determined, based on Jason’s activities and Internet presence.

Vince had traded snow and sub-zero temperatures for bone-chilling dampness and drizzle. So much for sun and sweat.

He radioed, “See anything?” If Jason and Skye showed up, it would be soon. They normally smuggled out books when a library teemed with the afterschool crowd.

“Man, what’s with the tattoos and piercings on these kids?” Sally radioed. “Doesn’t anyone want to look human anymore?”

“Hey, watch it,” Fozzy radioed. “I’m a proud member of the painted and punctured generation.”

“That dinky tat on your shoulder?” Sally said. “I’ve got liver spots twice the size.”

“Geez, Sal, thanks for the image,” Fozzy said. “I think I’ll pass on dinner.”

“Gimme a break. You haven’t skipped a meal—or a snack—in the three years I’ve known you,” Sally said. “You’ll be stuffing your face with Cheetos in two minutes.”

“Kids, play nice.” Vince eyeballed every adolescent entering the doors, searching for the disheveled pair. Jason and Skye always traveled together—and sans Danielle. Vince sometimes imagined Danny as the mummified mother in
Psycho
. Never seen, but her influence permeating every action the kids took. Whenever he succeeded in determining Danielle’s location, she evaded Vince before he could catch a glimpse of her.

A lanky boy and long-haired girl schlepped along the sidewalk. Vince crouched down and radioed his team. “Got ‘em.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Tuesday December 15, Late Afternoon

Chad sat next
to Amanda on the bus as it motored its way north through the hotel zone. Being so near to her made him edgy. He struggled with the realization that he began seeing Amanda less as a boss and more as a woman. A beautiful one at that.

After Chad and Tito had finished photographing the area of the submerged boat, Juan sailed the Sea Ray back to the docks, and everyone said their goodbyes.

Back at the hotel, Amanda and Chad had walked through the details again and uncovered nothing new. After sifting through the mound of papers and notes for an hour, Amanda suggested a change of scenery to clear their heads.

They decided to eat downtown. Amanda assured Chad her father would never take Miriam there, and they needed a harangue-free night.

On the way out of the resort, they had spotted Miriam heading into one of the dining rooms, but no Don.

A loud group of tourists climbed onto the bus, but the locals politely ignored them. At each stop tourists and workers boarded and disembarked, almost like a choreographed dance. A fellow with a guitar hopped on, sang a song, collected donations and left, but not before Amanda gave him a couple of hefty coins.

Watching the passengers, Chad understood what Amanda had said about a quiet dignity. These folks worked long and hard, day in and day out, to earn a living in Cancun. The place would collapse without this strong and steady workforce.

When the bus filled, Chad and Amanda relinquished their seats to local women who had been on their feet all day. The pair hung onto poles near the back until the crowd cleared. As the bus stops diminished, most of the tourists had disappeared, but a handful remained. Residents made up the majority of the riders traveling into downtown Cancun.

The bus paused and the pair departed with the rest of the tourists, hopping down in front of a Mexican market. A well-worn building housed a line of simple, tiny open-air shops sandwiched together. Sombreros, serapes, blankets—and piles of other souvenirs. Anything one could imagine from Mexico. It reminded him of the avenue of stores on Isla Mujeres.

“Do you want to shop? Something for the kids and your wife—but make sure to haggle; don’t you dare give them full price. I usually start at half of what they offer.”

He sighed. There was no one to shop for. No one waited expectantly at home, eager to hear about his exploits in Cancun. “I’m not a souvenir kind of guy.”

“You are not going to leave Mexico without at least one memento.”

“I got one, my baseball cap.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “C’mon Cooper.”

“Shouldn’t we be strategizing?”

“I know time is ticking by, but I’m mentally flatlining, and so are you. No ideas. Maybe by letting go, the subconscious will kick in.”

He stared at her.

“Sherlock, it’s worth a try.”

Amanda led him into a labyrinth of shops, each one under the watchful eye of a plain-clothed proprietor. The ambitious shopkeepers had more than one store, following Amanda and Chad when they wandered from one postage-sized establishment to the next. Some businesses actually had doors and air conditioning—most of them jewelry stores.

Chad had no idea where Amanda wanted to go or what she wanted to buy. She strolled up and down the halls between the stands. Shopkeepers appeared in doorways as she walked by, encouraging her to enter their stores.

“Amiga, come see my stuff. Good deals. Everything cheap. Free plastic bag.”

“Señorita, stop here. What you look for, I got. Cheap.”

Evidently proprietors in Cancun were proud they had inexpensive products.

She declined some offers and took up others on their invitations.

Amanda wandered into one shop and bought a sizable bottle of a liquid the color of maple syrup. She stashed it in her bag. “I promised Jaz I’d buy her a bottle of vanilla.”

They ventured deeper into the market and Amanda continued to select certain shops to peruse while bypassing others.

“Wait here.” She entered a store filled with gaudy T-shirts, brightly painted pots and statues of couples in embarrassing positions—some he’d never thought of. Heaven knows what she’d come out with.

She handed him a small bag. “To remember your time here.”

He pulled out a small bottle with a cork stopper. It contained the ivory sand of Cancun’s beaches.

He kissed her cheek and caught the floral scent of her fragrance. “Thanks. It’s perfect.”

He’d never let it go.

Chad tucked the bottle in his pocket for safekeeping as he followed Amanda along the streets of downtown Cancun. Based on her demeanor when she had handed him the souvenir, she had no idea—to Chad’s relief—that he’d treasure the few grains of sand, always reminding him of the moments he spent on the beach consoling her. Feeling the warmth of her smooth skin, tingling from the nearness of her indomitable spirit.

They strolled down a busy street, full of meandering tourists. Some of the shops on Tulum Avenue had a hint of the cool, glossy feel of the stores in the hotel zone, but the restaurants and hotels reflected a smaller, simpler and more traditional ambiance. Similar to the market, to Chad they felt authentic.

Amanda led him along a number of busy streets and the farther they walked from Tulum Avenue, the less sophisticated the area became.

“Are we going somewhere in particular or out for an evening stroll?”

“What? You’re too old for a little walking?”

“I didn’t know we were crossing the continent,” Chad said.

“After two days of sitting around a boat, I’d think you’d enjoy stretching your legs.”

“Not on an empty stomach.”

Modest establishments lined the streets, interspersed with abandoned hovels. Music and laughter drifted out of some of the restaurants and nightclubs. The eating establishments displayed sample dishes and menus and, after a few encounters, Chad deduced it was the job of one staff member to hook the tourists into the restaurant as they walked by. They passed a significant number of places offering tempting dishes.

“Is this a hunger walk or will we actually eat sometime in this century?”

“Patience, Cooper, I have a destination in mind.”

They followed a curve, picking their way over crumbled sidewalks and walking around cars blocking their path.

“Amanda, I hate to bring this up, but what if the kidnappers sank the Ocean Fox?”

“You’ve considered that possibility, too.”

“Tito and I swam around the area of the dinghy, looking for a larger boat. We didn’t find one, but that doesn’t mean it’s not in another location, somewhere off the coast of Cancun.”

“It would explain why we haven’t found it,” Amanda said.

“Which doesn’t mean that Rebecca and Trent are dead, but it’s our only lead at the moment.”

“And I’m sure you, like me, have no hope in what the police can find.”

“Precisely,” Chad said.

“Maybe we can have tourism work in our favor. After dinner, let’s contact the dive shops and fishing charters and ask them to look for the Ocean Fox tomorrow. Some divers might come upon it, or sonar could pick it up while a charter searches for fish. I’m sure we can find an email or Web site for many of them—or even leave a voice mail.”

“Great idea, but that would mean we’d have to arrive at our restaurant before midnight. At this rate, we might make it by sunrise.”

“Calm down, Cooper. We’re almost there.”

After a few more blocks, they arrived at a large restaurant filled with diners and bustling with wait staff. A mariachi band in full costume performed at one of the tables. The smell of grilled beef made his mouth water and his stomach growl. Waiters ran around with long kebab skewers stacked with meat and vegetables.

“Welcome to La Parrilla,” the hostess said, with a big smile. She wore a white, off-the-shoulder ruffled top and a deep red long skirt, looking as if she stepped out of the movie,
A Fistful of Dollars
.

The hostess led them to a table near the street, visible through the large openings cut out of the wall and covered by ornate window bars. Lots of tile and warm colors broken up by dashes of poppy red, butter yellow and electric blue reinforced the restaurant’s traditional feel. Above them hung strings with what looked like plastic place mats in the colors of the Mexican flag, all with “La Parrilla” cut out.

A waiter greeted them, named Jaime. Did the waiters from the hotel zone come to La Parrilla when they were too old to charm the ladies? Amanda and Chad ordered their usual to start the meal, and listened to the mariachi band while they perused the menu.

Jaime breezed over with their Margaritas and chips. “Are you ready to order? Señorita bonita, what can I get you?”

Even the older ones were pretty frisky.

After Jaime took their order, Amanda raised her glass. “To life after Cancun. May we survive to experience it.”

Chad’s phone vibrated.

“Brady Gray works for Command Commodities,” Art said.

“The guy who killed his girlfriend, Lisa James?”

“Yup. He handles the drug shipments to Miami for the dealers. And it appears Command Commodities has its very own stable of prostitutes. Gray makes deliveries to them as well, to keep the ladies compliant.”

“Nice work.”

“There’s one more tidbit you might be interested in. Brady Gray is Gordon Harding’s second cousin.”

“So…corruption is a family affair for the Hardings.”

* * *

“I’m as full
as a tick,” Amanda said, stepping out from La Parrilla. The food as tasty as the last time she and Lauren visited, she always made sure to spend an evening at their favorite downtown spot. Unfortunately the tightening waistbands on her shorts and skirts reminded Amanda she needed to replace her penchant for consuming comfort food in stressful times with another outlet. Too bad sex was out of the question.

“Would that be el ticko in Spanish?”

“Nice try, Cooper.” They started down the street. “Let’s cut through the park, take another route.” She stashed a large doggie bag into her tote.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you haul leftovers back to the hotel—and you ordered a lot. You must really love their food.”

“I have plans for these goodies.”

They had sidestepped the topic of Miguel through dinner, spending the evening trying to ferret out another solid lead to pursue, to no avail. They also discussed the information Cooper’s buddy had uncovered about Brady Gray.

“Was La Parrilla a favorite spot for you and Miguel?” It was inevitable that he’d ask sometime, but she’d hoped the conversation could have waited awhile—maybe another five years.

“Last night…um…it had to seem a little strange, to say the least. You probably figured out Miguel’s the reason I avoid Cancun south of Plaza Kukulcan. I always dreaded running into him.”

“He doesn’t remind me of a mass murderer.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Look, it’s your life, Boss, and none of my business, so if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. But I have to admit, I’m damned curious.”

They meandered down Yaxchilán Avenue, following a young, smitten couple ambling arm-in-arm, similar to the walks Amanda enjoyed with Miguel three decades earlier.

“We met during spring break my junior year at Northwestern. A group of us booked a room at a hotel across the street from Captain’s Cove.”

“That restaurant doesn’t have the vibe of a college student hangout. More of The Villages crowd.”

“It was my first night in town. I misplaced my friends and got mixed up on the buses. At first I overshot the hotel, passing it by a few kilometers. I got off and grabbed a bus going the other direction—and missed the stop again. Frustrated, I jumped off and started walking back to the hotel. One problem. In the rush I left my purse on the bus.”

She gazed at the couple ahead of them. “Being all of twenty,” Amanda continued, “my mature approach was to plop down on the nearest bench and bawl. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and saw my purse in front of me. I looked up into the kindest eyes I’d ever seen.”

“Miguel?”

“Yes. Miguel Santos.”

The couple turned off, leaving Cooper and Amanda alone on the back streets. “On the way to the hotel he explained the bus line to me and gave me advice on the best bars and restaurants.”

“Including Captain’s Cove?”

“No, of course not, but he told me he worked there and I should stop by if I needed anything. The next day I ran into him while buying beer at the local grocery store. His mature masculinity made him far more appealing than the slobbering guys my age, so I asked him out. I met him at the restaurant at closing and he introduced me to fine wines and wonderful conversation.”

“Conversation?”

“I thought him quite the gentleman. Being ten years older than me, he had a little experience under his belt. Anyway, it took me half the week to seduce him. We’d spend a few hours at the restaurant and then find a secluded place on the lagoon side to make love. It was all incredibly romantic.”

Thinking back to the evening at Captain’s Cove, Amanda realized she hadn’t sensed a set of eyes watching her while she and Miguel had wandered by the lagoon. Had she not noticed the stalker, or hadn’t he followed her out of the restaurant? And, if so, why? Was the encounter with Miguel part of a scheme to steal her money—did her father orchestrate it? He’d mentioned he hoped her re-acquaintance with Miguel would change her mind about paying the ransom.

Or had the kidnappers involved her former lover to distract her from the search? “Cooper, do you think Miguel could be tangled up in the kidnapping?”

“It’s a possibility—everything’s up for grabs, but the way he gazed at you when he showed up at the table last night—he’d have to be a damn fine actor to pull that off. He looked very much a man pursuing an old flame.”

“Old flame? Are we mixing a little Sam Spade in with the Sherlock speak?”

Cooper inhaled from an imaginary cigarette and exhaled. “I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble,” he said, adjusting an invisible fedora.

She burst out laughing. Watching an anal-retentive Cooper channeling the outspoken Sam Spade reminded her of a Chihuahua trying to keep up with a pack of Rottweilers. “Stick to Sherlock, he’s more your style—you know, the male version of a cerebral Miss Manners.”