Tourist Trapped (7 page)

Chad inspected the picture of the guy in a most unsenatorial pose—or maybe not, based on the recent behavior of politicians in Washington. Stark naked, reminding Chad of the Beluga whales at the Shedd, the representative of the people knelt, hunched over the backside of one of the regulars in the condo. How could these women stand it? Fat, obnoxious predators, all demanding that they shove their penises into one orifice or another. No wonder most of the gals did drugs—it was enough to give him nightmares and he merely viewed stills of the pathetic acts. He wondered when and how the politicians and corporate captains frequenting the condo came to equate powerless women with sex toys.

“He’s on the Ag Committee? Wouldn’t Gordon Harding be interested in him?” Chad said.

“Considering Gordo is CEO of the country’s largest meat processing corporation, I would happen to agree.”

TEN

Friday December 11, Morning

“Hopefully today we’ll
find out more than Trent’s skankability,” Amanda said, stifling a yawn. She and Cooper wended their way through El Embarcadero’s shops and kiosks and headed toward the wharf. Boats of all types and sizes sat next to the dock, most of them abuzz with preparations for the day’s activities. With nothing to go on besides a stack of pictures and receipts, Amanda counted on their Isla Mujeres excursion to hold the clues that led to her sister.

The sounds of the gentle surf hadn’t been able to lull Amanda to sleep overnight. Her mind had wrapped itself around the Miami photos and wouldn’t let go. Was Gordo using the condo to influence feeble-minded politicians with the lure of a bunch of worn-out, drugged-up hookers?

“Is Johnny Depp in town?” Cooper nodded at three pirate ships tied to each other at the end of the dock.

“Sorry, these belong to Captain Hook for the dinner cruise. Didn’t you see the souvenir picture of Trent and Rebecca?”

“Oh yeah, I did see one with pirates on it—hey, something’s bugging me, Amanda. Did you mention our plans to the concierge?”

“Not that I recall.”

“He handed me brochures for catamarans this morning and advised me they would probably be full today, but I could reserve spots for a day or two later.”

“It’s a popular excursion and I’m guessing one that books up quickly. He probably tells everyone that on their first day. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Her phone rang, a call from Jaz. “Amanda, your cleaning service phoned. A mugger dislocated Natalia’s shoulder while stealing her purse. She’s out for a few days and the agency wants to send over someone named Manuela. They said she’s worked for you before.”

Amanda’s part-time housekeeper fed and clothed two growing sons. Not good. “Will you order flowers and give Natalia a call? See if she needs anything—and send her a weekly check of a few hundred until she’s back.”

“Will do. And the fill-in housekeeper?”

“I think Manuela helped out when Natalia took care of her mother. That’s fine. Thanks for the heads up, Jaz.”

Poor Natalia, why do opportunists prey on those who toil the hardest?
Amanda had suspected Natalia lived in a rough neighborhood and tried to move her housekeeper to a safer locale, but Natalia refused. She said her boys wanted to remain close to their friends. Maybe now Natalia would welcome assistance.

Amanda explained the situation to Cooper as they made their way over to the enormous catamaran.

“Which one’s in charge?” Amanda assessed the staff bustling about the vessel.

“Maybe that one?” Cooper pointed to a fellow directing another staff member. He wore the same T-shirt and baseball cap as the rest, but his confident tone and stance reflected leadership.

She waved at the young man. “Perdón señor, may I have a word with you? Por favor? I’m sure you’re busy, but this is muy importante.”

He jogged to the edge of the boat. “Buenos días, señorita, what can I do for you?”

“We’re looking for a couple who disappeared the day after taking a trip to Isla Mujeres on this catamaran. We have receipts and pictures that confirm they went.”

“What day?”

“Last Saturday.”

“We didn’t leave anyone on the island recently. Everybody made it back to the boat on time.”

“We know they returned to Cancun safely, but we wondered if anything happened with them that seemed odd.”

“Who is the couple?”

“Trent and Rebecca Adams.” She handed him a picture taken on the sailboat.

He nodded. “There was a lot of talk about them after we made it back to Cancun. I’m sure some of the staff could tell you about the day, but we don’t have time right now. We’re getting ready for today’s trip.”

She watched the hustling staff load the boat with beverages. “Well…we’re also planning to visit the island. Can we meet with your staff after lunch?”

“No, that’s not gonna work.” He looked at his clipboard. “Why don’t you sail with us? We had a couple cancel so we have two open spots.”

Amanda looked at Cooper. “It’ll take us longer to ride over and back than the ferry, but we’ll have a chance to talk to the staff. What do you think?”

His expression turned to stone. “I haven’t been on a sailboat for five years, and the last time the boom and I played chicken.” He rubbed his ribs. “The boat won.” He stared at the catamaran and his chest rose and sank with a sigh. “Oh hell, why not.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We didn’t have anything else planned for this afternoon and it’ll give us a better idea of their day.”

The melancholy in his voice—there was more to the boating story than getting whacked with the boom. “Cooper, are you sure?”

He nodded. “We’re here to find Rebecca and Trent. As my old friend Venkat says, ‘Let’s do the needful.’ Just make sure to fish me out if I fall in.”

* * *

Chad regretted agreeing
to the boat ride. He gazed up at the billowing mainsail and jib, their canvas sheets bulging with wind: a too-vivid reminder of the afternoon on Captiva Island. But the catamaran forged ahead, rising and falling with each wave, beads of seawater occasionally spraying across the deck.

The Coopers had barely settled back into their routines after the Florida trip when Danielle had announced she wanted a separation and would be taking the kids to her parents’ house in southern Illinois for a few weeks. Chad thought it might be good for Danny to be home with her mother and father, and the kids loved spending time at the big old country house. Jason and Skye checked in with a quick phone call each night for two weeks and then silence. Chad couldn’t reach them so he phoned Beatrice and Herb. His in-laws said no one had visited. Danielle, Jason and Skye had disappeared, like a puddle on hot concrete.

Being on the boat—how could it be so painful more than five years later? His heart hurt as if Danielle squeezed it in her hands, constricting the organ until it could no longer beat, until it surrendered. He closed his eyes and heard her laughter in a wisp of breeze that passed over him, like her warm breath. In these moments, Chad realized he didn’t despise Danny, only her disease.

“I never imagined a week ago I’d be sailing to Isla Mujeres,” Amanda said. “And I most definitely hadn’t entertained the thought that I’d be here to hunt down Rebecca and Trent Adams.”

“And I thought my life was interesting.”

“Cooper, you spent decades fiddling with computers and then played the law student. Not exactly fodder for a soap opera.”

A gust snapped the edge of the mainsail back and forth.
If only you knew.

He and Amanda had staked out a spot on the starboard side of the boat, on one of the fabric squares laced to the vessel’s frame. About thirty other passengers filled in around them. Some sprawled out, sunning themselves, while others sat cross-legged, clutching drinks.

Most of the partiers peeled down to their swimsuits and slathered each other with sunscreen. Carlos, the tour guide Amanda had spoken to earlier, insisted snorkelers use biodegradable sunscreen, to avoid killing the coral.

Amanda sat beside Chad, her chin raised, facing the breeze. Tendrils of long, blonde hair escaped her ponytail and danced in the wind. She had replaced her designer sunglasses with a sportier, more practical pair, and wore a simple white tank and teal cotton shorts. A far cry from her pricey work wardrobe.

“They’ve set their course and have settled in for the cruise.” Amanda grabbed the rail and pulled herself up. “Let’s talk to the staff.”

Passengers who preferred the civility of padded seats filled the large galley, along with crew members dispensing drinks. Music blared through tinny loudspeakers.

“Perdón, señorita.” Amanda stopped next to a young woman pouring Margaritas into plastic cups. “My sister and her husband are missing and they had been on this trip last Saturday. We were wondering if you remember anything about them.” She handed a snapshot to the girl.

The staff member nodded. “Carlos said you wanted to talk to us. Jorge, come here.” She waved the picture at him.

A well-muscled young man loped over and examined the photo. “These two? They sat between a group of young women and an older couple on the way over. He talked with the girls and she talked with the retired pair. The guy, he drank a lot more than his wife did. When we got to El Farito to snorkel, he said he didn’t feel good and stayed on the boat.”

“The lady went without him,” the girl said. “The elderly couple said she should swim with them. The lady was quiet about her husband, but you could see she was pretty mad.”

“The guy, after his wife swam out, he started calling people—it kinda sounded like he was making a deal. He said he had big plans for the money,” Jorge said.

“To me it sounded like he was going to make some bet or sell a lot of drugs,” the girl said.

Chad rubbed his forehead. With Trent’s background, it could be pot or possibly narcotics. Gambling didn’t bubble up on the background search, but could he have diversified into new vices? Did he make a deal with the wrong devil?

* * *

“What’s she doing?”
Chad pointed at a woman fastening a standard life preserver around her waist instead of hanging it from her neck. “Doesn’t she know how to wear a life jacket?”

“They certify the preservers differently down here.” Amanda said.

“Huh? How can—”

“Just kidding.” She patted his shoulder. “They instruct all of the snorkelers to wear them around their mid-sections.”

People gathered in the back of the boat to receive instructions, donning facemasks and practicing breathing through their snorkels. Couples pointed and laughed at each other. One of the swim guides jumped in. Passengers took turns sitting on the end of the boat to slip on flippers before splashing in behind the leader.

Eventually the sea churned with swimmers, their faces submerged and their snorkels riding above the surf. Chad noticed the group had to stay close together and frequently a head popped up after a slap from somebody else’s flipper. Another swim guide followed behind and the group swam off like a mother duck and her brood.

“Do you enjoy snorkeling?” Amanda said.

“Never gone—but I don’t think this would be the best way to start.”

“Not unless you want to spend the next forty minutes protecting your skull from flapping rubber.”

The catamaran set out for the other end of the snorkeling tour, leaving the swimmers on their own in the waters off the island.

A few people stayed on the boat along with Chad and Amanda. Most of them lined up for free drinks, taking advantage of the ease of access while the others flopped about in the sea.

Amanda cornered Jorge at the helm. “Do you know anything about how Trent and Rebecca spent their time on the island?”

“I heard they ended up at a beach bar—I think it was Buho’s.”

“This isn’t a beach bar; do you know where this is?” Amanda showed him a picture of Rebecca in front of an establishment, standing next to a gray-haired woman.

“Don Chepo’s is on Hidalgo Avenue—and that lady with her? She and her husband sat next to Rebecca on the boat ride.”

“Did all four of them go off together?”

“I don’t know. None of them went downtown with the group. I think I heard something about them renting a golf cart.” Jorge scratched the back of his head and the bill of his baseball cap bobbed. “But how did they get around the island, and stop at Don Chepo’s and Buho’s all in two hours?”

“That’s what Cooper and I have to find out.”

* * *

Sure, the yacht
club was beautiful, the food edible and the alcohol flowed continuously—albeit somewhat watered down—but Amanda’s neck muscles tightened with every passing minute.

The grandmother sitting beside her flipped to what had to be the hundredth picture. “Here’s Emma. She’s the youngest, two, and that’s her big brother Treyton, he’s four. Aren’t they adorable?”

“Uh—yes, adorable,” Amanda said.

“They’re Molly and Jake’s kids. Those two got married six years ago. He’s an accountant and she’s a teacher.”

Kill me now.
“That’s wonderful.” Amanda raised her wrist. “Look at the time—Cooper, we’d better get moving; we haven’t been to the beach yet. Betty, I’d love to continue our chat, but this is Chad’s first visit to Mexico, so I want him to experience everything—you know, get his money’s worth out of the trip.” She grabbed her tote bag and stood. “Nice lunching with you, Betty and Lyle. We’ll see you back on the boat.”

Amanda walked to the edge of the restaurant with Cooper in tow. “I doubt if we can find out much from the staff here, but let’s ask. We’re stranded at this godforsaken place for another twenty minutes. Let’s make the best of it.”

He chuckled and waved his arm in an arc with Vanna White style. “Some would call this paradise. You call it hell.”

“It’s that ‘eyes of the beholder’ crap.”

The restaurant staff hustled beneath the palapa’s thatched roof, the wall-less structure providing an unhindered view of the ocean. A smattering of older patrons remained in the dining area, along with a young couple the color of cooked lobsters. Waiters cleaned up the abandoned tables and the kitchen crew dismantled the row of chafing dishes.

Amanda pulled out photos of Trent and Rebecca and stopped one of the servers. “Perdón, señor. Do you remember—recuerda—these people?”

He shook his head. “Lo siento, no.”

“My bet’s on the bartender.” Cooper made a beeline to the barkeep and showed him a picture. After some pointing, nodding and talking, he waved Amanda over. “This is Enrique. He says Trent spent lunch with some young women from the boat. Probably the ones he met on the ride over.”

The moon-faced bartender pulled a plastic cup off the stack and stuffed it with ice. “I don’t remember seeing her.” He nodded at the snapshot and poured rum and Piña colada mix in the glass. “The señora must have been at a quieter table.”

“Anything odd about the señor’s time here?” Cooper said.

“The camareros—how you say?” He moved his hands forward in a serving gesture.

“Waiters?” Amanda said.

“Sí. The waiters were too slow for him. He came to the bar to order drinks for the table. Lots of drinks—and big tips.”