Hot Schemes (21 page)

“Indeed. So what? Okay,
amiga
, I’m a desperate man. We’ll try it.”

Molly discarded the upscale
Casa
Rolando in favor of the more casual spots on the theory that Paredes might figure he’d be less conspicuous there. Three restaurants later they had come up with nothing, unless her own case of caffeine jitters counted.
Café Cubano
vendors could probably make a fortune on university campuses around final exam time.

“One more,” she bargained when Michael wanted to start checking out his own list of suspected hangouts.

“One more,” he agreed resignedly.

The one they chose was only a block from the water and a major marina. Though it was late in the afternoon, the restaurant was still jammed, the air inside thick with a haze of cigar smoke despite health warnings and ordinances to protect against the hazards of secondary smoke.

Though he had dutifully waited in the car on the earlier tries, this time Michael insisted on coming along. “You can say I’m your photographer.”

“Where’s your camera?”

“I’m just on a preliminary scouting expedition with you. I’ll return later for a formal photo shoot.”

“Sounds like a pretty complicated ruse.”

“And yours isn’t?”

Molly rolled her eyes. “You have a point.”

Unfortunately, after all their planning, the owner was not on the premises. The hostess, however, was a chatty young woman in her mid-twenties who clearly appreciated Michael’s finer qualities. Molly wondered how he felt about being examined as a sex object. Then she decided he was probably used to it. At any rate, the hostess agreed to join them as soon as the crowd thinned out.

A waiter brought them both coffee. This time Molly insisted on decaf, which drew startled looks from the waiter and Michael. Twenty minutes later the hostess returned. She tugged a chair closer to Michael’s before collapsing wearily onto it. She mostly collapsed in his direction. Another inch or two and he’d have to prop her up.

Before Molly could open her mouth to ask a single question, Michael jumped in with the announcement that he was the one doing the freelance travel piece. Molly gaped at the theft of her planned scenario. She had to admit, though, that the hostess—Lara Veciana-Peña—probably wouldn’t have taken her eyes off Michael long enough to answer any question Molly asked. By contrast, she’d probably tell the sexy detective secrets she’d kept hidden from the rest of the world for her entire life. She ran red-tipped fingers through luxuriant shoulder-length black hair in a provocative gesture as she listened intently to every word that tripped from his tongue.

“Celia Cruz was in here once. Is that the sort of thing you mean?” she asked in a voice that was totally unaccented. Molly guessed she’d been born and educated right here in Key West, perhaps of immigrant parents, but more influenced by her American friends.

“Exactly,” Michael said, beaming as if she’d just given the correct answer to the trickiest question in final
Jeopardy
.

If this kept up, Molly thought she might be sick.

Lara offered up a few more celebrities in an effort to earn more of Michael’s praise.

“What about writers? Politicians?” Molly asked, hoping to inch closer to the purpose of this interrogation.

Lara blinked and gazed at Molly as if she’d just noticed her presence. “Sure. Jeb Bush, you know, the ex-President’s son? He came in one night with some Cuban friends. And lots of writers live right here in Key West. They’re in all the time, mostly during the season, though not this time of year. Hemingway used to live here in Key West, but of course he’s dead now.” She named several others who were still living. Michael dutifully wrote them down.

“I was told that a Cuban looking for truly authentic food from his homeland would come here,” Michael said. “In fact, the person who gave me the name of this restaurant said his friends from Miami often drive all the way down just to have a meal here.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Lara said vaguely. “I don’t know if they’re famous or anything. I’ve never heard of ‘em, anyway.”

“Are there people like this, though, on a list, so that when they call you always hold a reservation for them?”

“Sure, we have a priority customer list. My boss is real sensitive to that sort of thing.”

“Could I see it?” Michael asked. “I think that’s exactly the sort of thing I need for the article.”

For the first time, Lara looked uneasy. “I’m not so sure he’d want it published.”

Michael put his hand reassuringly over hers. Or maybe he just figured he’d give her a thrill, Molly thought in disgust as she saw the girl’s eyes turn bright with something that she doubted was intelligence. She recognized lust when she saw it. She was guilty of it enough herself in Michael’s presence.

“I promise not to print it as is or to reveal how I got the information,” he said, gazing deeply into her eyes. “Just let me have a peek at it.”

Apparently the girl read the promise of greater intimacy in Michael’s expression or in his touch, because she practically ran to the reservation book.

“That was disgusting,” Molly said under her breath.

He grinned at her unrepentantly. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“Just don’t be surprised when she turns up in Miami looking for love.”

He scowled at her as Lara rejoined them and spread a typed list on the table. Molly tried to get a look at it, but it was upside down and she didn’t think standing up to peer anxiously over Michael’s shoulder was the thing to do. And Michael, damn him, didn’t reveal a damn thing in his expression.

He jotted down a couple of notes. “Any of these people in this week?”

Lara shook her head. “But I took a reservation earlier for tonight from Señor Hernández. He said he was bringing some very important people from out of town.”

Molly recognized the name at once. It had been on the contact list given to them by both Felipe and Walt Hazelton. “Did he mention who these friends were?”

“Not to me,” she said.

Molly’s spirits sank.

“But,” Lara said, “my boss said we should pay special attention because this man he’s bringing could one day be president of a free Cuba.”

Molly shot a triumphant look at Michael. If that wasn’t Orestes León Paredes, then she didn’t know who it could be.

Michael used his considerable persuasive skills to convince the cooperative, smitten Lara to give him and Molly a dinner reservation at a table across the restaurant, but with a clear view of the one being held for Señor Hernández and his party.

“You will not disturb them,” she asked worriedly.

It was the first indication that she didn’t entirely trust the newfound love of her life. Trust was always the first thing to go, Molly noted dryly.

“Absolutely not,” Michael promised, his expression all innocence and reassurance.

Molly was astounded at how easily he blatantly lied to the poor woman. It raised some interesting questions about the things he’d whispered in her ear the past few nights. Of course, given her own willingness to bend veracity for the sake of getting a piece of relevant information, maybe she didn’t have a lot of room to talk.

When they left the restaurant, Molly insisted on finding a hotel room, taking a shower, and buying a new dress for dinner, not necessarily in that order.

“Why don’t I drop you off back on Duval Street to shop?” Michael suggested. “I’ll get the hotel room, pick you up in a couple of hours, and we can take that shower together.”

“Are you sure you’d prefer sharing a shower with me, rather than your new conquest?” she inquired crankily.

“That was only business,
querida.”

Molly was beginning to notice he pulled out the more affectionate term when he wanted something. “Just how far were you willing to take this
business
in order to get answers?”

“I suppose you have never flirted with a man to get what you wanted?”

“Never,” Molly said piously.

“Liar,” he accused. “I myself have been the victim of your wiles.”

She turned on him indignantly. “Michael O’Hara, I never flirted with you to get information.”

He grinned unrepentantly. “Ah, then it was only because you wished to flirt with me? Perhaps you’ve been hoping all this time to seduce me?”

Molly glared at him as the car stopped for a group of pedestrians crossing the street. She opened the door, got out, then slammed it shut. She walked around to Michael’s side and leaned in the window. “Better make that two rooms,
amigo.”

•   •   •

It was amazing how little petty annoyances vanished in a puff of steam, during a long, friendly shower, Molly thought as she and Michael were led to their table that night by someone other than Lara. With the hostess absent, Molly found she could hardly recall what her argument with Michael had been about.

They had arrived fifteen minutes earlier than their quarry, so they would already be seated when the others turned up. With any luck, Paredes wouldn’t even notice them until they’d managed to eavesdrop on quite a bit of the conversation.

Actually eavesdrop was a polite description for it. Michael had managed to plant a tiny transmitter in a wall plug near the other table and had put a pocket-size receiver in Molly’s handbag.

“Isn’t this illegal?” Molly inquired when he returned from his surreptitious trip to install the fake plug in the wall outlet. “I mean, don’t you need a court order or something before you go tapping somebody’s dinner conversation?”

“I would if I had any intention of taking this to court. I’m just an innocent citizen trying to locate a missing relative. The ethics are questionable, but right now the only thing I give a damn about is Miguel’s safety.”

“But what if you hear them plotting something illegal. You won’t even be able to turn them in, will you?”

“An anonymous tip,” he said with a shrug. “It would then be up to the authorities to follow up in a by-the-book manner.” He slanted a curious look at her. “Why so worried about my ethics?”

“Because you seem to be breaking every rule you live by. I’m just wondering how you’re going to feel about that when this is over.”

“If I learn the truth about Miguel, the price will not be too high.”

Molly wondered about that, but she couldn’t debate the point with him because a handful of men in the Hernández party arrived and were led to the table across the room. Based on the deference being paid him, Molly picked out the tall, well-dressed man with silver hair as Señor Hernández. He, like all the others, looked like a successful middle-class businessman. Despite the season and the summer heat, they wore dark business suits, expensive dress shirts with monogrammed cuffs, and silk ties. She suspected all of them had been told to tuck their checkbooks in their pockets for the occasion. Or perhaps they were the types who’d just peel off hundred-dollar bills from a bundle held together by a sterling-silver money clip. Half a dozen cellular phones were placed on the table, yet another indication of their success.

When Orestes Léon Paredes walked in, escorted by two men the size of small tanks, Molly regarded him with astonishment. The military fatigues had been replaced by a suit that transformed him into a handsome, powerful-looking figure. Though he was shorter than many of the other men, his commanding presence immediately overshadowed them. Perhaps it had something to do with that charisma Michael had mentioned. The only person who was his equal in presence was Señor Hernández, who was treating all of his guests with the manner of a benevolent dictator.

Molly tried to listen to the snatches of conversation being picked up by the transmitter. Michael reached over and touched her shoulder gently.

“Do not stare so intently at your purse,” he advised mildly. “People may wonder if it is speaking to you.”

She shot upright. “Sorry. Can you hear them?”

“Enough.”

“What are they talking about?”

“The Florida Marlins’ latest victory over the Atlanta Braves, I believe.”

“Oh,” she said flatly.

“Never fear. They will get to the point of this gathering soon.”

Molly prayed he was right. Michael’s tone was calm, but there was no mistaking the tension in the set of his jaw and the watchfulness in his eyes. She wondered how long he would wait patiently before physically trying to force Paredes to give him the answers he sought about Miguel.

Forced to make a show of being there for dinner, they ordered a meal of paella, mainly because Michael knew it would take longer to prepare and guarantee them a reason for lingering. When it eventually came, it might as well have been sawdust for all the attention they paid it. Their worried waiter asked repeatedly if there was some problem with their meal. Michael waved him away, assuring him that their appetites were simply overwhelmed by the delicious seafood dish.

“Damn,” Michael muttered irritably when the waiter had been temporarily placated.

“What?”

“I’m beginning to wonder if they are ever going to get beyond these pleasantries after all.”

“What if it turns out to be just a friendly get-together?”

Michael shook his head. “At the least, I expect Paredes to ask for money from these men to support his efforts. These are not men who would take up arms and raid Cuba themselves, but they would be sympathetic.” His expression turned cynical. “After all, in a free Cuba their businesses would stand to make a small fortune, especially with such well-established influence with a new government headed by their close friend, Orestes León Paredes.”

Eventually cigars were passed around, and a haze of smoke rose from the table. Michael nodded in satisfaction. “Good. They will get to the bottom line now.”

Listening intently, Molly picked out a smattering of familiar words, most of them bitterly spoken, unflattering descriptions of Fidel Castro, along with talk of his failing health and the already-failed economy.

Paredes spoke with feeling. As near as Molly could translate it, he said adamantly, “The end is near for Fidel. I will see to it.”

Cheers and a toast greeted his statement, along with promises of support. If she hadn’t known the context, Molly would have thought it the same as any other political gathering to generate early support for a candidate. She’d been to a few dinners for prospective candidates for local offices that had been no less hard-sell pitches for money.