Authors: Lance Zarimba
Vacation Therapy (32 page)
I poked him. “Yeah, don't you think we should go get your costume?"
Sergio looked at the stage curtain and then back to me. “I..."
"We'll let you get your outfit and relax. We're going to go take a few pictures of ourselves.” Skinny David turned to his partner. “We could use these get-ups as Halloween costumes. No. Wait.” He held up his hands. “Better yet, we could use these photos as Christmas cards. They'll be so great. What could we write underneath?” He paused only a second. “Don we now our gay apparel. It'll be perfect. I can't wait."
David and David rushed off to find their camera.
"Man, can he talk,” Sergio said, and then pointed back to the curtain.
Tentatively, we peeked through the red velvet.
Mike and his unidentified guest were gone. Had they heard David's tirade? And did they know we had been listening to their conversation?
"Who was that with Mike?” I asked.
"I didn't recognize his voice. Did you?” Sergio asked. “If David and David hadn't interrupted..."
"I know.” I bit my lip. “Do you think Mike overheard us?” I lowered my voice. “Maybe he knows we were listening to him."
Sergio scratched his head. “If he's the one who has been stalking us, I doubt it could get any worse than it already is. Right?"
"We'll just have to be on guard."
"What else is new?” he said.
"I know. So much for my relaxing vacation. All I wanted to do was lie in the sun, read, work on a tan, and listen to the ocean lap on the beach, but
no
."
"Instead, you get torrential rains, howling, gale-force winds, a hurricane, three dead bodies, and an obnoxious drag queen."
And you
, I thought. But I said, “Molly's going to hear about this when I get home. I promise."
"
If
we get home,” Sergio exhaled. “Damn. I forgot to ask Mike if the roads were passable, yet. It's not like the backlog of flights is going to get us out of here any sooner, but I'm willing to bet our flights are going to get bumped back a day or two."
"What?"
"It happens. We both took special chartered flights here."
"So?” I said.
"That means we're low priority. Actually, the lowest."
"You've got to be kidding."
"I wish I was. But the commercial flights have priority.” A wistful look played across his face. “Maybe the sun'll come out tomorrow."
"Listen Little Orphan Annie, I'll be happy when I get on the plane. No matter when it gets here or how long we have to sit on the runway."
"All this happy talk isn't getting much done, now is it?” Sergio said. “Besides, I need to go and pick out my policeman's uniform for tonight. Did you want to come with me?"
"And watch you try on your costume? No way. I need to go back to the room and find my jeans. Hopefully, they're dry. We didn't jam them against the patio door to help stop the rain from blowing in, did we?"
"I don't think so, but you'll find your jeans,” Sergio said. “I shouldn't be too long.” He turned to go.
"Wait. Maybe I should go with you?” I offered.
"Nah, don't be silly. I'll be fine. It's broad daylight, what could possibly go wrong?"
A chill passed through my body. “Do you have to ask? You know how things have been going on around here.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Well, that settles it. You have me convinced. I'm coming with you."
Sergio touched my shoulder and pushed me toward our room. “I'll be fine. I think I can pick out a cop uniform all by myself."
"Molly would kill me if anything happened to you,” I warned.
"I'll be fine. Trust me. Go find your jeans. Shoo.” He waved me away.
Now, I was worried.
Trust me
, he said, ha. But I headed back to our room. I didn't have the energy to fight with Sergio, not after the workout he'd just given us. I called over my shoulder. “Fine. I'll meet you back in the room in ten minutes. Ten minutes. And if you're not back by then, I'm coming to look for you, and I'll drag you back, kicking and screaming all the way."
"Promises, promises,” Sergio shot back.
I opened our door, and a musty smell hung in the air. Images of a locker room made my nose wrinkle and twitch. The maids still hadn't been in to clean, but a pile of dry towels was stacked in the bathroom. Couldn't they have run the mop over the floor, just once, if only to wipe up the rainwater that had seeped in?
I knelt down on the slimy floor and dug through the pile of laundry in our closet. All my dirty clothes lay in a heap, waiting to be jammed into my suitcase and washed at home.
A small gecko scurried out from under a pair of shorts. Jumping back, I got out of his way and spotted a patch of blue denim. After the little lizard ran up the wall to the ceiling, I reached in and pulled out my jeans before our new pet fell on my head. Although my Levis felt damp to the touch, they were drier than the shorts I had on.
Walking over to my bed, I pulled them right side out and tried to smooth the material with my hands. But after the legs were flattened, a few wrinkles hung around the knees. Still, they appeared wearable for our performance. That was, if Sergio approved, and if he didn't, he could iron them himself.
Inserting my hand into the front pockets, I quickly had them in their proper position. I hoped I hadn't added another wrinkle. I flipped them over to inspect the backside, and a faint crackle sounded.
Did I leave something in the back pocket? Money?
My fingers explored. A wadded-up piece of paper crunched between my fingers.
I hadn't left anything in my jeans.
The scrap of paper, wrinkled and torn, emerged from my jeans. As I unfolded it, frantic letters leapt from the page at me: “
Help! They're following me. They're trying to kill me. Gary and...
” The writing stopped.
I swallowed hard. Duane had slipped this into my pocket when he said he was looking for a roommate. Then I realized what his advances had really meant.
He hadn't been trying to hit on me. He was running for his life, and this was his final plea for help.
The door to our room burst open and slammed into the wall. My head jerked up and my body tensed for the attack.
The gecko fell to the floor as Sergio entered. As he rushed across the room, he didn't see it and stepped on it when he crossed the floor. He slipped a little as it squished underneath his foot, looked at the mess, wiped his sole on the floor, and continued on his way. “What do you think?” He extended his arms out to the side, giving me the whole view. He was clad in a policeman's uniform, brown leather boots, mirrored sunglasses, and a tight policeman's helmet. A billy club dangled from his belt, as did a pair of handcuffs.
When I didn't answer, he noticed the shocked look on my face. His glance moved to the piece of paper in my hand. “What do you have there?” he asked. “Did you find some money in your pocket?” He tossed his wet, sweaty clothes onto his bed. “I love it when I forget that I have money in my pocket and..."
When I didn't smile, he hurried over. “What's wrong?"
"Check this out,” I said softly, and handed him the note.
He read it. “Yeah, so? It's a joke, right?” He looked at me, waiting for me to laugh.
I didn't. I just shook my head and swallowed.
"Was this shoved under our door?"
"I found it in my jeans."
"Who put it there?"
"I think Duane did."
"Duane?” he asked, but as soon as he said it, he understood. “He slipped that into your pocket when we were checking in.” His eyes opened wide. “He wasn't grabbing your...” his voice trailed off.
"I don't want to think about that right now."
"Oh, my God,” Sergio gasped. “Duane was being followed and came to us for help. He must have hoped we'd take him with us and protect him."
"But we thought he was hitting on us. And we ran away. Actually, we drove him away,” I added.
"He was acting pretty desperate, going after you and all,” Sergio said. “We just didn't know how desperate he really was."
"After we left our room for supper, he must have tried to run back to his room, but entered ours by mistake. Since all the doors open with any key, he got into ours and thought he was safe."
"And someone killed him and threw him in our shower when he heard you returning."
There was a chance I had been in the room with the killer. Good thing Sergio came along when he did, otherwise I could be... I didn't finish that thought. Instead, I ran over to the dresser, opened a drawer, and rifled through my underwear. Pulling out Gary's black notebook, I flipped to the page with our arrival date and pointed to what was written there. “What did Gary mean by ‘Meet T & S'? Do you think he meant us?"
"Who else could he have meant? I don't understand why he was going to meet with us. Neither one of us knew him, right?” Sergio looked at me, waiting for my response.
"How would I have known him?” I asked.
"I just asked.” Then Sergio's eyes glowed. “Could T & S stand for Tom and Sean?” He paused for a moment and then said, “Probably not."
"Why not?” I asked.
"They're not a couple,” Sergio said and shook his head.
"Like we are?” I retorted.
"Excuse me. All I meant was that the way it's written, it would appear that he was meeting with a couple, instead of two separate people. Mike did hire Tom through Sean."
"Sorry I snapped. It just makes me sick that we could've helped Duane, maybe even saved his life if we had only known."
"But we didn't know,” Sergio said. “He went about it all wrong. What did he expect us to think? Oh baby, here's a hairy teddy bear, please come back to our room?"
"I doubt he was thinking rationally at that point.” I knew we hadn't been.
Sergio held out his hand. “Let me see that note again."
I gave it to him, and he squinted hard at the piece of paper. “What letter do you think he was trying to write here?” He held the note up to the light and pointed to a small line that looked like a part of a letter. “Does that look like an ‘M’ to you? Like in Mike?"
I looked over his shoulder. “It looks like there's kind of curve there.” I pointed to the arc. “It looks more like a ‘C.’ Right?"
We both said, “Cha-Cha?” at the same time.
"That could explain why she's been such a bitch,” Sergio said.
"She hasn't been hostile to me."
"Just wait, she'll turn on you. She takes pride in being a bitch."
"This isn't the time for the battle of the sexes,” I responded.
"When did Cha-Cha arrive at the resort?"
"Like I'd know?"
"Did you notice her on your flight or on the shuttle to the resort? I know she wasn't on mine. Could she have taken an earlier one?"
"Why is that important?” I asked.
"Because, Sherlock, whoever was stalking Duane had to have been at the resort before you arrived, right?” He pointed to the note.
"You're right,” I said. “Why didn't I think about that? Whoever was stalking Duane was already here."
"So, who was here before you arrived?” Sergio pressed.
"Everyone. Tom, Logan, David, and David. Everyone. Even you.” My eyes narrowed at him.
"Get serious."
"I am. My flight was full, but I can't remember who was on it. I think I was still in too much shock over where Molly was sending me to pay any attention to anything."
"Didn't anyone look familiar?"
"You were the first and the only person I recognized here."
"So what about Cha-Cha?” he asked. “When did you meet her?” he asked, from between clenched teeth.
"In the bathroom,” I said.
"Do you know how that sounds?"
"I know, but that's where I ran into her."
"You make it sound so seamy, so sordid,” Sergio answered, with a Sandra Bernhard mouth, lips pulled back in an open kiss.
"You're the one who keeps putting a sexual edge on everything that I say."
"Maybe you're just talking sexy."
"Whatever.” I gave him an irritated glare. “I think we need to give Cha-Cha a wide berth from here on out."
"You won't be hearing any arguments from me. But remember, she thinks she's the star of the talent show."
"Oh, great."
"Why do you think Cha-Cha's the one blackmailing these guys?” I asked. I was still having trouble coming up with a motive other than the money. Was there a connection between the victims? And why did all of these clues keep pointing toward us? Pointing to me? Maybe I was being paranoid, but because of what had happened over the last few days, it felt like I was the target.
"She's crazy. That's why she's doing it. Her wig's on too tight.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Or her nylons are digging in, cutting off the circulation to her brain."
I looked at him, confused.
"Think about it.” He pointed from his head to his groin.
My hands instinctively covered myself, my legs crossed in a protective stance. “Oh,” I said.
"You know what I mean.” Sergio smiled and nodded. “Do you think we should tell Mike? Maybe he'll kick her out of the show."
I started to ask why, but he quickly added. “That is the
only
reason I want her kicked out of the show.
Really
. It's not like she's any competition to us, anyway. I was just thinking more about our safety than anything else.” His face flushed. “Honest."
He hadn't convinced me, and Sergio knew it.
Making the excuse, “I need to check myself in the mirror, and see if this uniform looks okay,” Sergio quietly retreated to the bathroom. “But I really think we should tell Mike about her.” He continued talking to me through the closed door.
I sat down on my bed. Maybe he was right. If Cha-Cha was crazy, she could just be killing people at random. There didn't seem to be any connections between Duane, John, and Gary. Was there a pattern? Whoever crossed Cha-Cha's path? But that didn't make any sense, Sergio and I had crossed her path many times, and we were still standing. But for how long?
I felt like Sergio and I were at the center of the problem. Maybe because these attacks had become so personal—a snake dropped in my seat in the jungle cruise, and another one placed under my bed. And where the heck was my Speedo? Sergio's machete? The thrown rock? The missing boot? Or were all of them a big coincidence? John had left the dining room just before we headed back to our room. All of these events added up to something, but my mind wasn't able to see what.