A Second Chance at Murder Page 10

  On my way out of the office, Montserrat passed me with a smug little smile on her face.

  Hmm. What had that been about?

  I crossed the dining hall to the bar, which was empty except for Dad.

  “Who was that?” Dad asked about Montserrat.

  “She’s on the search-and-rescue team,” I replied.

  “Maybe she has news,” he asked.

  “Maybe so.” Although I hoped it wasn’t a ploy to get Sergio away. Did Montserrat have the hots for him? Did she think that I posed a threat?

  Well, I certainly wasn’t ready to date anybody until I knew for sure what was happening with Scott and even then I needed time to heal. I tried to push the thought of Sergio out of my mind.

  Becca and Cheryl appeared next to us, both were dressed in white and red, ready for the evening’s festivities.

  “What did Scott’s mom say to you?” Dad asked.

  “Has she heard from Scott?” Becca asked.

  I held up my hands before they could bombard me with questions.

  “I’ll catch you all up on everything later. Right now I need to shower.” I turned on my heel, but Cheryl stopped me.

  “When do you think we’ll be able to leave?” she asked. “I have a show to run, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “We’re being held here in Jaca,” Becca said.

  “Held?” Dad asked.

  “We’ve been detained,” Cheryl said. “Sure, we’re not in jail. But the police aren’t allowing us to leave the country.”

  Dad frowned. “Why’s that?”

  “Because we were camping near where the woman was found,” I said. “The police suspect one of us.”

  I cringed as I recalled how irate Victoria had become over the chalice earlier in the afternoon. With a temper like that, certainly she was capable of bashing in someone’s skull. Had she known Annalise from her previous travels to Spain?

  And what about Parker and Todd, they’d been ready to attack me last night at the fiestas.

  “Don’t you have an influence with that cop?” Cheryl pressed.

  “No—”

  “I mean, he has the complete hots for you, Georgia, use those feminine wiles,” Cheryl said.

  Geez, did nothing get past Miss Barracuda?

  I shrugged. “I’m not really itching to leave Jaca.”

  Cheryl smirked. “Of course you’re not.”

  My reasons weren’t what Cheryl imagined. If I stayed in Jaca, it would be easier to find Scott, because as Sergio said, Scott hadn’t left the area. He was likely hiding out somewhere, but where and from what?

  Also, the thought of leaving the area without Scott was unbearable. There was no way I could leave until I got to the bottom of it all.

  Cheryl clapped her hands at Dad and me. “Come on. Come on! Let’s get out to those fiestas. I didn’t get a chance to dance last night, but tonight’s my night!”

  My second wind died a swift death. The idea of dancing all night was really out of the question for me. My feet ached and I was exhausted.

  “I’m too tired,” I said. “I think I’ll pass—”

  Cheryl pulled on my arm. “Nonsense! I heard there’s a medieval jousting festival. And an archery competition and everything.”

  I moaned. “Oh, no.”

  “Is that supposed to give you ideas for tomorrow?” Dad asked.

  Cheryl laughed. “Actually no, but I am a great shot. I wanted to show off for you.”

  Becca put an arm around me and squeezed. “Come on, G. Go get ready. It’ll be fun!”

  The door to the makeshift office creaked open and Sergio and Montserrat approached.

  Cheryl snapped her fingers at Sergio. “Excuse me. When do you think we’ll be able to leave? I have to schedule the next contest for the show and that was supposed to be in France.”

  “France?” Sergio asked, a look of disdain crossed his face. “Why do you want to go to France?”

  Cheryl frowned. “Well, the gist of the show is to feature a variety of locations. You know get the armchair traveler excited about visiting each place.”

  “Armchair travelers don’t actually travel,” I countered.

  Cheryl whisked away my comment with a sweep of her hand. “You know what I mean. We need to showcase a variety of cultures.”

  “You can always make it look like we’re somewhere else,” I said. “If we can get out to the beach and film the Mediterranean, you can use a little Hollywood magic and we can all pretend we’re in France or Italy.”

  Dad and Becca laughed, but Sergio looked downright horrified.

  “Why?” Sergio asked. “There is plenty of culture right here in Jaca.” He turned to Becca, seemingly finding her a little more sympathetic than Cheryl. “You know, there is a citadel.” He began to enumerate each site on his fingers: “The Romanesque cathedral San Juan, the monastery of the Benedictines, the hermitage of Sarsa, the Bridge of San Miguel, the fifteenth-century Torre del Reloj.” He paused. “In fact, there is a medieval painting in town, a mural, that was recently vandalized. The town is trying to raise money to restore it. It’s a very significant painting . . . Your show could bring awareness to this issue. Help us raise funds to restore—”

  “Sounds fascinating,” Cheryl interrupted. “But when can we go to France?”

  Sergio wrinkled his nose and Montserrat shook her head.

  Now it was Cheryl’s turn to count on her fingers. “They’ve got the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame cathedral, the Louvre—”

  Sergio, obviously not one to be bullied by Cheryl, held up a hand to stop her midsentence. “They also have the French!”

  Montserrat threw her head back and filled the room with a hearty laugh. “Sí, sí. ¡Los francés!”

  Cheryl took umbrage at their affront. “What do you have against the French? I like the French!”

  Sergio and Montserrat only laughed and turned to leave. Montserrat walked a pace ahead of Sergio and he looked over his shoulder at me. “Nos vemos, Georgia.” Then with a wink, he said, “Maybe I’ll see you at the church later tonight.”

  Twelve

  Despite the evening hour, the ground still held an insufferable heat and even though I was exhausted, I’d agreed to go to the fiestas with my Dad, Cheryl, and Becca. I felt as though Dad and Becca had taken it as their personal mission to keep me distracted from thoughts about Scott. Cheryl, I’m fairly certain, just wanted to dance and drink the night away.

  We’d joined most of the cast and crew in the area by the square. If possible, it seemed like there were even more people out tonight that there’d been the previous evening. I spotted Victoria dancing with Cooper. Her face became angry when she saw me, and she turned away.

  Kyle was dancing with Becca, but she freed herself from him and shimmed closer to me. “Kyle and a bunch of us are going up to the grassy mound to watch the fireworks. Are you going to come or are you more interested in meeting up with Sergio and making your own fireworks?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

  I hadn’t really had an opportunity to brief her about Scott’s pen name, but I knew she sensed my broken heart anyway.

  “Nothing’s going to happen between me and Sergio,” I insisted.

  She gave me a knowing smile and giggled anyway.

  Cooper appeared by my side. “Are you going to dance? Or just pout?”

  “I hadn’t realized I was pouting,” I said.

  “Well you were, darling, and it’s not becoming on such a pretty girl. When you’re not smiling, it’s practically a crime.”

  I fought the urge to grin. “I think your charms might be better served on Victoria or one of the Double D ladies.”

  Cooper made a face. “I like challenges.”

  A group of Spanish men, clearly ready to party until the
sun appeared again, surrounded us. A bota bag was thrust into Cooper’s hand while someone thumped him on the back screaming, “¡Hombre, hombre!”

  Cooper didn’t need much encouragement. He tossed his head back and raised his hand. A steady stream of red fluid flowed into his mouth. He passed the bag to me and I obliged the crowd, figuring it was the path of least resistance as I couldn’t see them leaving me alone until I drank. I took a small sip and passed the bag to the bearded man standing next to me. I realized with a jolt it was Miguel, the local cameraman who had helped Dad and me during the day’s competition.

  He smiled warmly at me. “Are you having a good time, Georgia?”

  I didn’t see the need to be truthful, so I lied. “Yes.”

  What good would it do to tell him I was miserable? I wanted nothing more than to find Scott and try to figure out what had happened. Why had he lied to me about so much?

  Could we start again?

  A small woman with dark curly hair came up to Miguel. She snaked an arm around his waist and said, “¿Vas a venir esta noche?”

  Miguel’s smile fell away from his face and he straightened as if stung.

  What had she just said to him?

  At that moment I’d have given anything to understand Spanish. I searched my memories of my high school Spanish class. The only word I recognized was noche. “Night.” Not very helpful.

  “Sí, nos vemos,” Miguel said.

  Nos vemos?

  That meant “I’ll see you later,” so were they meeting somewhere tonight?

  The woman seemed to take Miguel’s words as dismissal and a scowl overtook her face. She turned as she dropped her arm from his waist and quickly got swept up in the crowd.

  Miguel passed the bota bag back to Cooper, who was now talking to Todd.

  I leaned into Miguel. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping me today.”

  He nodded at me, but he seemed antsy and turned to say something in a hushed tone to the man next to him. The man nodded aggressively in return.

  Miguel patted my shoulder. “Nos vemos mañana, Georgia. I hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

  Something about the way he was sneaking off put my senses on high alert. A moment ago, he’d been content to pass the bota bag around and now it seemed he couldn’t get away from us fast enough.

  A chill crept up my spine as I realized he was one of the only two Spaniards on the camping trip with us on the night that Annalise had been murdered.

  Had he known Annalise?

  Could he know where Scott was?

  I followed him at a distance to the edge of the square, where I saw him meet up with another group of men. Nearby, my Dad and Cheryl were dancing to a folk song. Dad grabbed my arm as I approached.

  “Dance with Cheryl. I need a break,” he pleaded. “Do you think any of these bars serve anything stronger than wine?”

  “Ack. Be careful what you wish for. We have to compete tomorrow and you need a clear head,” I said. “You can’t be drinking whiskey all night.”

  Dad looked wistful.

  “Listen. I want to track someone but I don’t want to be followed, if anyone asks about me, especially Sergio, can you distract him?”

  “Wait a minute. Where are you going?” Dad said. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  I gripped his arm. “I can take care of myself, Dad. Please, if you don’t help me, I’ll have to create my own distraction by setting fire to one of these garbage bins.”

  Dad tsked at me, but he also knew I was usually good at following through on my threats. After a moment, he said, “I’ll help you, but it doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

  In the distance, I saw Miguel and the group of men he’d been chatting with peel away.

  “He’s getting ready to move. I gotta go.” I slipped away from Dad and into the shadows of the dark alley.

  I turned to glance behind me and saw a familiar figure approaching.

  Sergio.

  Dad intercepted him at the same time that Miguel and his gang left the alley. Excitement flooded my belly. The chase was on.

  I followed Miguel at a safe distance. Luckily, tracking a suspect is “Police Work 101”—even the rubber-gun squads are trained to do it.

  I actually was pretty good at tracking suspects. I remember surprising my professor at the academy. He’d told me that I’d stick out anywhere like a sore thumb, but the truth was I knew how to melt into the woodwork. You had to, growing up in the country. Animals don’t take to sudden movements and it turns out neither do people you’re tracking.

  A breeze started to pick up and the noise from the fiesta was diminishing. Every other block, there was a small tavern where folks had spilled out on the sidewalk, enjoying the cool evening air. They’d call out to Miguel’s group as they passed, but no one seemed to notice me.

  Finally the group made a beeline into what looked like an abandoned building.

  The group stopped in the doorway briefly, but then proceeded inside. Could I dare follow them?

  I waited, and while I mulled it over, several more groups followed, all men. It didn’t seem that anyone was stationed at the door. I decided to take my chances. If there was a doorman inside, I could pretend that I was a lost tourist.

  It was dark inside and there was a long corridor illuminated by antique torchlights hanging from the walls. It was eerily quiet. I tiptoed through the corridor toward a winding staircase. There were lights at the bottom of the stairs and noise floated upward. As I approached the bottom, I could see a large heavy wooden door.

  Oh goodness. What kind of clandestine gathering had I followed Miguel to?

  Surely there would be a doorman on the other side of the door. Would they be angry that I’d followed them here? What was going on behind this door?

  Common sense told me to retreat.

  As soon as I turned to go, I heard voices coming from above. Footsteps echoed down the staircase.

  Oh, Lord!

  I was stuck, about to be found out.

  Suddenly a group of people were upon me. Smiling Spanish faces gave me the “hail fellow well met” pat on the shoulder as they pushed past me through the wooden door into a crowded amphitheater.

  A fiesta away from the fiesta?

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I scanned the crowd, mostly men. Although there were a few women and I spotted the girl with dark wiry hair immediately. She approached Miguel and he kissed both her checks.

  My heart dropped as I realized this was just another party. Nothing sinister going on here. No lead to Scott’s whereabouts and Scott certainly was not in the crowd. Not that I’d expected to see him here, but I suppose I’d been hoping that Miguel could lead me to him.

  I retreated to the exit and then saw the sign. On the wall, hanging in plain sight, was a banner of a snake wrapped around an ax on a black background.

  The ETA logo.

  • • •

  The fiestas were still in full force when I rejoined our group, although I’d missed the fireworks and Sergio at the church. Instead, I found Dad and Sergio bellied up to a bar with three empty cocktail glasses in front of each of them. Dad’s face lit up when he saw me.

  “What do we have here?” I asked, thumping Dad on the back as way of greeting.

  Sergio jumped up to his feet. “Georgia. Where have you been?”

  Shrugging I said, “I took a little walk around town. Where’s Cheryl?”

  “Kyle loves to dance,” Dad said. “Thank God. He’s entertaining her. One more dance and I thought my feet were going to explode.” He grinned at me. “And you know, I need to stay fresh for the next competition tomorrow.”

  I snorted. “You’re not going to be any good to me if you’re hungover,” I said, indicating the row of empty cocktail glasses.

  Dad looked shocked. “T
hose are his,” he said, pointing at Sergio.

  Sergio only laughed, his dark eyes twinkling. He looked much more sober than Dad, but he probably just held his liquor better.

  “Where are the other teams?” I asked, looking around the dark bar. “Are they all heading to bed like good little competitors?”

  As if in answer to my question, Double D appeared sandwiching Montserrat. Laughter erupted from them as they entered the dark bar, Daisy had red wine stains down the front of her previously pristine white blouse and DeeCee looked ready to make a dash toward the ladies’ room and vomit.

  In contrast, Montserrat looked as immaculate as she had earlier. She spotted Sergio at the bar and unglued herself from the girls.

  “¿Qué pasa?” she asked.

  DeeCee tore off to the restroom, but Daisy tailed Montserrat over to our group.

  “Where is everyone else?” I asked.

  “Todd and Parker have gone off to bed,” Daisy said. She was flushed from dancing and wine, and was slurring her words a bit. “They’re fierce competitors and I think we’re in for a load of hurt.”

  “What about the others?” I asked.

  “Victoria is off flirting with Cooper, I think. Or they’ve gone to bed, too, but probably not getting any rest, if you know what I mean.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

  DeeCee emerged from the bathroom and found her way over to a small bandstand. She found a microphone and tapped on it. When she discovered it was live, she squealed and called out to Daisy.

  The girls broke out into an a cappella rendition of “Take This Job and Shove It,” that brought the crowd in the bar to its feet.

  Hmmm. Likely Double D was on Expedition Improbable only for exposure. Probably looking for someone to discover them. I hoped that happened. Maybe something good could come out of this entire mess, like launching a couple sweet girls into country-western singing mega-careers.

  Sergio offered me his bar stool. “If you’re not going to dance, you may as well sit down.” He hailed the bartender and bought me a drink.

  “A Coke,” I said.

  “With Coke?” the bartender asked.

  I nodded. I was so thirsty from running around all day and night that as soon as he put the beverage in front of me, I drank heartily. I gagged and nearly choked.