Double Lucky (35 page)

“Oooh,” Carolina said, taking another bite of her apple. “Can I go to one of the stores and buy stuff?”

“There's nothing you'd like,” he said, wondering where this sudden interest in his business was coming from. “It's all cheap crap, not your style.”

“Why do you sell crap?”

“'Cause it makes me big bucks.”

“I lika big bucks,” Carolina said, giggling.

“Ain't ya got some kinda cover-up?” Anthony asked. “You're too young to be walkin' around with everythin' hangin' out.”

“Maybe one day
I'll
go into business,” Carolina mused, ignoring his criticism.

“No import/export for you,” he said sharply. “When you're old enough Papa's gonna find you a nice boy to settle down with so you can give me lotsa grandkids.”

“What if I don't
want
to get married, Papa?” Carolina said, pulling a face. “Boys suck.”

“Some of 'em do an' some of 'em don't. One day you'll change your mind.”

“Why would I do that, Papa?” she asked, her pretty face a picture of innocence.

“Enough with the questions,” he said impatiently. “An' go put somethin' on over that bikini.”

Carolina looked dismayed.

“Sorry, Princess,” he said quickly. “Didn't mean to get on your case. C'mon back over here an' give your papa a big, fat hug.”

She ran over to him. He squeezed her a little too tightly. “What you doin' today?”

“We're having lunch at the beach club, then we might go water-skiing.”

He enjoyed the fact that he had kids who got to do all the things he'd never had the opportunity of doing when he was growing up. They snow-skied, water-skied, played tennis, rode horses. He was proud that he'd been able to give them so much.

“Where's your mom?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Carolina replied.

“Go find her, tell her I wanna see her.”

“When are we leaving here, Papa?”

“You know I never make plans ahead. I'm a ‘feel it, do it' kinda guy.”

“My friends need to know 'cause they have to tell their parents.”

“When do you
wanna
leave?”

“Whenever you do.”

“Okay, I'll let you know.”

“Thanks, Papa,” Carolina said, skipping from the room.

His mind was still on the phone call from Renee. He couldn't even relax in peace without being bothered by the Vegas incident.

It was over.

Done with.

Why was Renee behaving like such a stupid bitch?

*   *   *

“Papa wants to see you,” Carolina said, approaching Irma, who was lying out by the infinity pool soaking up the hot Acapulco sun.

“What does he want?”

“How should
I
know?” Carolina said somewhat rudely.

Irma didn't bother telling her daughter off. She'd relinquished all responsibility. Anthony was in charge now—Carolina was all his.

“Tell him I'll be right there.”

“I'm not a
message
service,” Carolina said, ruder by the minute. “Tell him yourself.”

What a lovely young lady
she
was turning into. Good luck, Anthony.

Irma got up from her lounger and made her way toward the villa. When she got there she found Anthony sitting on one of the outdoor patios smoking an oversized cigar, his two dogs lying at his feet.

“You wanted me?” she said.

“Yeah,” he answered, blowing acrid smoke in her direction. “What's up with you?”

“What's up with me?” she repeated. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“I mean, what the fuck's up with you,” he said, scowling. “You're acting like a zombie, all zoned out like nothin's gettin' through to you. You on Prozac or one of those antidepressant pills?”

“Why would I be on antidepressant pills?” she said, veering toward being sarcastic. “You've taken my children, left me in a foreign country with no friends. Surely I'd have no reason to be depressed?”

“You got homes all over the fuckin' place, money to shop your ass off, an' now you're complainin'—is that what I'm hearin'?”

“You can hear what you want to,” Irma said, feeling quite bold. “I don't care anymore.”

“You'd better stop this shit,” Anthony raged. “I work like a maniac to keep my family happy, an' this is the thanks I get? A miserable wife who barely fuckin' functions.”

“Oh, I function,” she said, wishing she could tell him how well she functioned when Luis was in her bedroom going down on her with a passion she'd never felt from her husband.

“Yeah, in Chanel an' Louis Vuitton with my credit card in your hand you function like a fuckin' machine.”

“Is that all?” Irma said calmly. “Can I go now?”

Anthony had been straining for a fight, and Irma wasn't giving him one. What the fuck was she on?

“Don't think you're goin' anywhere,” he said. “I—” Before he could continue, his cell phone rang. He snapped it open. “Yes?” he barked.

“Mr. Bonar?” a female voice said.

“Who wants t'know?” he said suspiciously.

“This is Detective Franklin from Las Vegas. I'd like to ask you a few questions about Tasmin Garland.”

“Hold on a minute.” He turned to Irma, waving her away. “Business, gotta take this.”

“Permission to leave granted,” Irma murmured, infuriating Anthony even more.

He waited until she was out of sight before taking the call. “Yes?” he said, pacing.

“Were you fixed up on a blind date with Mrs. Tasmin Garland last Friday night?”

“Huh?”

“I've spoken to Renee Falcon. I believe you, Mrs. Rae Young, and Mrs. Garland had dinner Friday night at the Cavendish Hotel. Is that correct?”

“Why you askin'?”

“Because Mrs. Garland is missing. She hasn't been seen since that dinner.”

“I hardly know her.”

“You dined with her, Mr. Bonar. She informed her babysitter that she was being fixed up on a blind date, and since you were the only man present…”

“That means shit. I was sittin' there with a coupla muff divers, didn't even catch the other broad's name.”

“I see. Well … perhaps you can recall the conversation, the mood of the evening.”

“Sorry,” he said abruptly. “Had a steak, talked business with Renee, an' left town.”

“Unexpectedly?”

“Huh?”

“Unexpectedly, Mr. Bonar?”

“No.”

“Your pilot says otherwise.”

She'd talked to his fucking pilot! This was unbelievable!

“My pilot knows nothin',” he said, a sharp edge to his voice. “I tell him what t'do when
I
decide t'do it.”

“I see. And you decided to leave Vegas at midnight. Unexpectedly.”

“It wasn't so unexpected. I knew I was going.”

“Apparently your pilot didn't. He thought you were staying overnight.”

“I don't pay my pilots to think. I pay 'em to get me from A to B.”

“I understand.”

“Yeah.”

“I want to make certain I get this right. You're saying that after the dinner was finished, you never saw Mrs. Garland again, is that correct?”

“'S right. So if ya got nothin' else…”

“Thank you, Mr. Bonar. Any further questions, I'll call this number.”

“Yeah, do that,” he said, clicking his phone shut.

Goddammit! Fucking dumb questions.

He summoned The Grill. “Call the main office,” he said. “I need 'em to change my cell phone number, an' get me a new pilot—tell 'em to fire the one I got now. Make sure the new one starts pronto, 'cause we're leavin' for Miami tomorrow.”

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

The boy in the back of the Chevrolet was chattering to Max about music, telling her who he liked and who he didn't. The old man was snoring. Max lapsed into silence, trying not to think about how much her side and ankle hurt her.

Ace, with one scratched-up hand on the steering wheel, was wondering if there was anything to eat in the car—a chocolate bar, chewing gum, anything. He leaned over to take a look in the glove department, and as he did so the old man woke up.

“What you nosin' around for?” the old man said, his voice quavering. “We got no money. We're hardworkin' farmers. If you're gonna rob us, it ain't your day, sonny boy.”

“Not planning on robbing you, sir,” Ace said. “I was seeing if you had anything to eat.”

“All you hadda do was ask,” the old man grumbled. “We got a half-eaten ham sandwich if that's any use to you.”

A half-eaten ham sandwich sounded like bliss. “Uh … thanks,” Ace gulped, overcome by the thought of food.

“Give him the sandwich, boy,” the old man ordered his grandson.

“But Gramps,” the boy whined. “I was gonna have that later.”

“Can't you see these people are hungry?” he said, throwing Ace a suspicious look. “What you two young-uns doin' out on the road so early anyway?”

“Thought I told you,” Ace said. “Our car broke down.”

“A likely story the mess you're in. I've heard every story from here to Florida,” the old man said. “A likely story. Give him the sandwich.”

Reluctantly the boy rummaged in his backpack and produced a brown paper bag. “Here,” he said, thrusting the bag at Max, his eyes fixed firmly on her breasts.

She opened the bag, took out the sandwich, and passed it forward to Ace. “You have it,” she said.

“We'll split it,” he answered.

“No, I'm okay. Really. It's all yours.”

Ace devoured the sandwich in three quick bites.

“That's the best-tasting thing ever,” he said. “Thanks.”

The grandfather had fallen asleep again, and the boy was continuing his music conversation. “I got my own radio,” he boasted. “Gramps won't get me one of them boom boxes like I want, he says we can't afford it. I'll get it one of these days soon as I start workin'.”

Max made a mental note to find out where these people lived and send this boy a CD player. If it wasn't for them, they would still be standing on the road hoping that Internet Freak wasn't going to find them and stick a gun in their faces.

She wondered what was going on at home. As soon as she got near a phone, she'd call Cookie and find out before driving back to L.A.

Hopefully when they arrived at the parking lot her car would be there, Ace would start it for her, and she'd drive back to L.A. as quickly as possible.

What a nightmare this past weekend had been.

What a story to tell Cookie and Harry!

She couldn't wait.

*   *   *

It was a clear day, crisp, cold, and quite invigorating. Henry decided to go outside into the garden and pick some flowers to put on the tray before he took it in to Maria for her breakfast. He was determined to find something pretty to put on her tray.

Making his way around the side of the house, he was startled to see several boards lying on the ground. He couldn't imagine where they'd come from. Then it dawned on him that they'd been wrenched from Maria's window.

For a moment he didn't understand what was happening. It was impossible for her to escape, and yet …

Frantically he ran over to the window and peered in. There was no Maria lying in the bed. No Maria in the room. No Maria!

Rage swept over him, a stark cold rage that enveloped his entire body.

Where was she? How had she escaped?

He ran to the outhouse, finding that the big wooden door was still intact. Rushing back into the cabin, he got his gun and the key to the outhouse, then he went back outside and tentatively unlocked the door.

Instead of the body he'd been hoping to see, there was a gaping hole in the ground leading to a tunnel where the cousin had obviously managed to burrow his way out.

Black fury roared in his head. How had this happened? Even more important, how long had they been gone?

He raced back into the cabin, grabbed his car keys, ran out to his car, jumped in, and set off.

Nobody was taking Maria away from him now. Nobody.

*   *   *

The old man was snoring loudly.

“Mind if I put the radio on?” Ace asked.

“I don't care,” the boy answered. “Gramps listens to them country stations, but I like rock and roll.”

“Who's your fave?” Max asked.

“Rolling Stones, they're good.”

“You're too young to know anything about the Stones,” Max said, turning her head to look out the back window.

“You too,” the boy said. “How old
are
you?”

“I'm—” She was just about to lie, but then she thought, what's the point? “Sixteen,” she said. “And you?”

“Gonna be fourteen in a month.”

“You're both too young to know who the Rolling Stones are,” Ace remarked.

“I am so not,” Max objected. “I'm into all kinds of music. Rap, soul, alternative rock.”

“The Stones must be as old as this kid's grandfather,” Ace said, feeling a lot stronger since eating the half sandwich.

“Thing is they're still rockin',” Max pointed out. “Saw their last concert in L.A. They rule!”

“I've got a record of Mick Jagger singing ‘Satisfaction,'” the boy boasted.

“Wow!” Max said, giving him a little slack. “You're smarter than you look.”

“You bein' rude?” the boy asked, scratching his head.

“Just eff-ing with you,” Max teased.

“Now, now, kids,” Ace said from the driver's seat. “And I do mean kids,” he added pointedly.

“What?” Max said.

“Sixteen, huh?”

“Shut
up
and put on the radio,” she said, embarrassed because she'd originally told him she was eighteen, and now he'd caught her in a lie.