Terror in Taffeta (25 page)

Dang it, how was I supposed to storm off in a huff of self-righteous indignation when he was standing there saying he was sorry? It didn't change anything, except maybe make me like him a little better.

“I appreciate you saying so, Evan, but I have to get out of here. You can call me if you want, and we'll talk.”

He pulled me in and hugged me close.
Stop smelling good!
I thought, allowing myself to enjoy it for a moment before pulling away.

“At least let me fly you to Mexico City,” he said.

I searched his face. “Really?” I couldn't even pretend I was too mad to take him up on his offer. I'd been dreading the bus ride, and if we hurried we could catch an even earlier flight out to San Francisco.

“It's the least I can do.”

It was. It really was.

Evan flagged down a cab, and I directed the driver to the bus station. I hurried inside and found Brody right where I'd left him. “C'mon, let's go,” I said, gathering up my bags. “Our getaway car is waiting.”

“We're driving?” he asked.

“Even better. I hitched a ride on a Cessna, and I think we can make our flight back to SFO.”

“What about Zoe?”

I checked my watch. “I really don't want to miss that flight and have to spend the night in Mexico City. I feel terrible about it, but I'll just have to call her later.”

I did feel guilty about not saying good-bye. Maybe I'd write the family an apology letter and send it back with Evan, or send Zoe a nice floral arrangement. Some orchids would really spruce up her cell.

The private airport where Evan kept his plane was about half an hour outside of town, and Evan called ahead to have them start the paperwork for our flight manifest. When we finally arrived at the airport, the cab dropped us off right in front of the hangar. My stomach was doing flip-flops as I thought about the flight ahead. I would never let on to Evan, but small planes make me nervous. Still, I was glad to be leaving, and my stomach would just have to deal.

“Wait here,” Evan said as he went to check in at the office. “I have to make sure we're okay to go.”

We lined our bags up next to the luggage hatch and waited. A few minutes later, Evan came striding back into the hangar.

“They're not quite ready for us, but let's get loaded up.” He opened the door to the storage compartment under the plane and started hoisting our bags in one by one.

Had we not had our heads inside the compartment, rearranging our bags, we would have seen the two cars coming before they squealed to a stop outside. The sound made Evan jump, and he narrowly missed hitting his head.

I whirled around to see who had made such a dramatic entrance. Four police officers had guns pointed at us, and they were yelling something in Spanish. I didn't know what they were saying, but judging from the context I was pretty sure it was somewhere in the neighborhood of “Freeze!”

What now?
Officer Ortiz had cleared me to go. Had Mrs. Abernathy found out I was leaving and had me arrested for—what? Failure to get her daughter out of jail? I was pretty sure that wasn't a thing.

Brody and I looked at each other wide-eyed. I turned to Evan, who had his hands up. What must he think? I'd brought nothing but drama into his life.

The police officers were directing all their questions at him, and they spoke so rapidly I couldn't follow what they were saying at all. I knew I'd screwed up plenty, but I didn't think I'd done anything illegal. What was happening? Where were subtitles when I needed them?

The policeman who was talking to Evan turned him around, frisked him, then slapped a pair of handcuffs on him.

What was going on here? What had Evan said to the man to get himself arrested? Evan glanced back at me as an officer led him to one of the patrol cars. I frantically mouthed the words “I'm sorry!” at him, but I wasn't sure he'd understood. An officer who spoke English attempted to question me and Brody, as the squad car containing Evan turned on its sirens and sped away.

Where were you flying to?

Why was the flight manifest filed at the last minute?

How do you know the pilot, Evan Reilly?

Passports?

I waited nervously as they checked our passports, radioed in to the station, and waited for a response.

“Okay, let us check your bags, then you're free to go,” the English-speaking officer said as he handed our passports back.

Wait, what? Evan was in custody but we were free to go? Not that I wanted to argue, but what had just happened?

“Brody,” I whispered, as the policemen started searching the plane. “Did you catch any of that?”

Brody nodded as he stared at me wide-eyed. “A little. I'm not sure, but it sounds like Evan has a drug problem.”

“What? That's crazy. Evan doesn't do drugs.”

“No, not a problem with doing them. A problem with smuggling them.”

 

CHAPTER 25

I should have been thirty thousand feet in the air, feeling anxious about the tiny aircraft but excited to be on my way home. Instead, I was still standing on Mexican soil, watching policemen rifle through my luggage and wondering what my next move should be. If they thought they were going to find a kilo of coke among my underthings, they were sadly mistaken.

Drugs? Was that how Evan was supplementing his income? He did seem to live rather comfortably, but I'd figured it was just because of the advantageous exchange rate. In fact, I'd assumed he'd moved to Mexico because it was less expensive, but maybe it was a better base of operations for drug running.

I was having trouble letting the information sink in. I couldn't believe he'd kept this from me. Not that our week of romance meant that he owed me full disclosure, but that was a pretty big secret.

The officer had said we were free to go—but go where? By the time we got back to the bus station, we'd have missed the last bus for Mexico City. All the hotels were full; we'd established that already. Mrs. Abernathy had room at the house on Calle Recreo, but I wasn't about to walk right back into her clutches.

That left Evan's house. “What do you think?” I asked Brody. “Should we go back to Evan's place? I still have his key. I meant to drop it through the mail slot, but we left in such a hurry I forgot.”

“Surely he won't mind.” Brody sighed. “Two steps forward…”

“One step back into San Miguel.”

We must have looked pretty pitiful, because the policemen offered us a ride back into town. On the way, I tried Evan's cell, but it went to voice mail. I pictured it sitting in a plastic baggie along with his car keys and wallet. I decided to take his lack of an answer as tacit permission to go back to his house, but I left him a message just to be sure.

As we rolled our suitcases back through his front door, I couldn't help but feel defeated. It had only been a few hours earlier that I had left with a sense of triumph, and now here I was again.

“Home sweet home,” Brody said, dropping his bags on the floor.

“I guess we should be grateful we have someplace to go,” I said, “although I'm not sure I feel entirely comfortable here now.”

“I know. I keep thinking the police are going to come bursting through the door any minute to search the premises.”

That hadn't even occurred to me. “Thanks for that image.”

Having all those guns pointed at us had been every bit as stressful as the threatening message I'd gotten. If they did have a warrant to search Evan's house, I didn't want to be there when it happened. “You wanna go get some food?”

“You read my mind,” Brody said.

We walked down the hill for the second time that day, toward the
jardín,
where we found a café and settled in.

“So,” Brody said, after we'd properly creamed and sweetened our coffees, “you didn't know
anything
about Evan's extracurricular activities?”

“I swear, Brody! I had no idea. I never would have accepted his offer for us to stay with him if I'd known, let alone agreed to get into a plane with him.” I had trusted him so completely that I'd even had him fly in several members of the wedding party the week before the ceremony. Had it really been almost two weeks ago? God, it seemed like a year.

Brody smiled sheepishly. “I'm sorry I pushed you to go out with him again. I just want you to be happy.”

I waved my hand in the air as if to dismiss his guilt. “It's okay. I'm the one with the questionable taste in men, not you.”

“But I was the one egging you on.” The waiter slid two sandwiches onto our table, and Brody and I ate in silence while I replayed the events of the day. I'd gotten myself into this mess, whether Brody had encouraged me or not. And besides, I had much bigger messes than Evan to deal with.

That morning, after the police had told me they couldn't help me, all I'd wanted was to run away. But now that I'd been forced to pause for a minute and think about things, I knew I owed Zoe an explanation as to why I couldn't help her. I also owed Nicole and Vince the truth about Leo posing as Father Villarreal. Call it fight or flight, but my survival instincts had been overriding my sense of duty. Luckily, my conscience had kicked back in, and I knew I couldn't leave again without talking to them. Surely the man on the answering machine wouldn't begrudge me that.

But what was I going to tell them?

I set my sandwich down. “Brody, will you go with me to visit Zoe?”

“Sure. Of course.” I hadn't really thought he'd say no, but I'd asked so much of him already.

“I feel so bad leaving her here, but what else can I do?”

He leaned in and covered my hand with his, giving it a squeeze. “I'm sure she'll understand.”

“That's good, because I'm not. Sure, that is.”

“I'd lead with the phone message you got,” said Brody. “Surely she'll understand that.”

“I guess so,” I said, nibbling on a radish that was probably only meant to be a garnish. I should have been ravenous, but I didn't really feel all that hungry.

“And then you can explain to her that you've exhausted all the possibilities.”

I poked at my potato chips, rearranging them on the plate. “Yeah, I know. It's just … I guess it's not really true.”

Brody raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

I stared at my plate as I turned things over in my mind, then looked up at Brody, who was watching me expectantly. “Maybe we should look at everything one more time and make sure.”

Brody's eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I knew it.”

“What?”

“I knew you couldn't leave it alone.”

“So?” I shrugged. “You know me. If I didn't feel invested, I wouldn't be doing my job.”

“I believe I might have mentioned something to that effect earlier today.”

“Okay, Mr. Know-It-All. So you were right. Big whoop.”

He smiled in satisfaction. He was loving it.

“Let's go back to the beginning.” I fished through my bag and found the list of suspects I had made with Brody wedged in between the pages of the paperback I'd been saving for the flight home. “This list had Zoe, Trevor, Fernando, and—well, Mrs. Abernathy, of course, but I just added her to humor you. After Father Villarreal's funeral, I was sure he was the key, but all that led us back to was Leo.”

Brody turned the paper sideways so we both could look at the list. “I don't think Leo had anything to do with it, do you?”

I shook my head. I doubted the killer was still hanging around drinking in bars, and besides, if Leo had killed Dana, he wouldn't have been so afraid of us. “Yeah, I doubt it. But it could be whoever hired him.”

“True. It sounds like whoever sent him was looking for information on the family.”

A sudden thought occurred to me. “You know, with all the Father Villarreal nonsense, we're forgetting something.”

“What's that?”

“Ryan McGuire.”

“You're right! The dead priest kind of sent us off in another direction, but Ryan was looking pretty guilty before all that.”

I added Ryan's name under Leo's and drew an emphatic circle around it. “Motive? Well, that's easy enough. Dana was trying to ruin his life. And doing a pretty good job of it, from the sounds of it.”

“Is there any chance he had something to do with Father Villarreal's death, too?” Brody asked.

“I wondered that,” I said. “But there's no way to know without talking to him.”

“Well, at the risk of stating the obvious,” Brody said, “maybe we should go talk to him.”

“Aren't you forgetting something?” I asked.

“What's that?”

“‘Mind your own business or you'll end up like the dead girl'?”

Brody nodded, brow furrowed. “I know. But think about it. The voice on the machine had an accent, which means it wasn't Ryan.”

“That only makes me feel marginally better,” I said. “He could have had someone else make the call.”

“You really think it was him?” Brody asked.

“I don't know. But we don't even know where he is. He wasn't flying straight home, and I don't remember where he was going.”

“I'm sure we could find out.” Brody wadded up his napkin and tossed it onto his plate and shrugged. “I mean, you know, if you want to.”

“Let me think on it, okay?” It wasn't like there was much else I could do until the next day anyway, other than curl up and relax with a good book. And we both knew that wasn't going to happen.

*   *   *

Things were eerily quiet back at Evan's house, which was good for concentrating, but it was hard to relax while wondering if the police were going to show up any minute wielding a search warrant. I called the cell phone number I had for Ryan, but he didn't pick up. No surprise there. Next, I dialed Vince to see if he had any idea where his best man had gone.