A Second Chance at Murder Page 17

  “What?” Daisy wailed. “There’s no stores around here! And I’m not biking anymore!”

  Dad chuckled. “Not from a store, honey. From one of them.” He pointed toward the sheep.

  Daisy fell into a heap sobbing.

  Twenty-one

  EXT. MEADOW DAY

  Gordon is looking into the camera. He is dressed in a summer plaid shirt with blue-and-yellow checks and chino pants. His hair is styled back and his face is flushed.

  GORDON

  (smiles) Hello. I’m Gordon Thornton. I’m pleased to be one of the contestants on Expedition Improbable. I’m competing with my daughter, Georgia, whom some of you may know from a show she appeared on called Love or Money. (looks down) I’m not sure that one ended too well . . . but . . . you know, we’re back in the saddle. Hoping for a win. There’s some pretty tough competition this time around. (chuckles) We’re up against a former NFL MVP and a couple firecrackers from Nashville. (wiggles his finger at camera) But don’t you count the ol’ farmer out. I might still be able to pull a rabbit out of a hat, and you know, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my little girl.

  • • •

  While Dad chased the sheep around. I elevated my ankle. I watched as the crew set up the blue tarp for our finish line. Each team had to fill a bucket of milk and turn it in to Harris before we could complete the challenge. Harris had in his possession some kind of pass code he would give to the first two teams. The third team would be eliminated.

  Todd and Cooper seemed to be arguing more than milking any sheep. Daisy and DeeCee, on the other hand, had bucked up and gotten to work, although their milking looked more like wrestling as I’d seen Daisy take a tumble with a sheep a few times.

  Once the tarp was set up, I began my hobble over to the finish line. Dad wasn’t done milking the sheep, but I figured he wouldn’t be long. Sure enough, only seconds before I stepped on to the tarp, Dad appeared next to me. He reeked like a sheep, but he held up the bucket full of milk proud as a peacock.

  With his free hand, he grabbed mine and we entered the circle together. Harris smiled broadly at us, all teeth. “Georgia! Gordon!” All of sudden he took a step back and said, “Whoa.” He fanned his nose and I laughed.

  Growing up on a farm I was used to the smells of animals, but Harris seemed mortally offended by my father’s aroma.

  Dad put the bucket down by Harris’s feet. Harris shuddered as he got a whiff of the raw milk. He took a moment to collect himself while Cheryl and Becca giggled in the background. Finally, Harris said, “Welcome. I’m happy to say you are the first team to finish the challenge and are therefore safe from elimination.” He presented Dad with a note. “You will need this to be able to complete the challenge tomorrow. Good luck.”

  Down the lane, Double D approached with their bucket swinging between them.

  “Oh, my gosh! DeeCee and Daisy are going to finish next!” I screamed.

  “Cooper and Todd are out?” Dad asked. Looking up the hill we saw Cooper and Todd fumbling around with the sheep. “He’s tackling that sheep like he’s a running back!” Dad said.

  As they neared, DeeCee flashed a proud smile, but Daisy had a look of alarm on her face, suddenly she tripped and fell into DeeCee knocking the milk bucket out of her hand and spilling it.

  DeeCee screamed out as if acid had burned her skin. “What did you just do?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Daisy said. “It was an accident! Look, Todd and Cooper are still out there, we have time.”

  They rushed out looking for any sheep that would give them the time of day, but Cooper let out a huge whoop. Todd pumped his fists in the air and then they rushed down the meadow toward the finishing circle.

  This time Harris was prepared for the stench and didn’t react when Cooper set the bucket at his feet, instead he beamed his over-whitened smile and said, “Cooper, Todd. I’m happy to say you are the second team to finish the challenge and are therefore safe from elimination.” He presented Cooper with a note. “You will need this to be able to complete the challenge tomorrow. Good luck.”

  DeeCee and Daisy stood nearby, both with glum expressions on their faces. Harris clasped his hands together and arranged his features into his “sad to see you go” look. “DeeCee, Daisy, I can truly say, and I’m sure America will agree with me, it was a pleasure watching you both compete. You should be proud of yourselves and how you tackled each and every challenge. But I’m sorry to say, you didn’t complete this challenge in time to continue and are therefore eliminated.”

  EXT. MOUNTAINSIDE DAY

  Daisy is looking into the camera, her face is sunburned, her long blond hair is matted and has blades of grass sticking out of it. She looks completely exhausted.

  DAISY

  Hello America! I’m Daisy Flowers. Yes, that’s my stage name, of course. I was one of your fearless competitors on Expedition Improbable. I would have liked to win, but honestly, I’m glad to have it over with. (She clamps a hand over her mouth.) Am I allowed to say that?

  (When there is no response, she shrugs.) It’s just that it was a lot of work. And dirty stuff, too! Look at me. And what you can’t tell from looking at me on the TV is that I stink to high heaven. Lord! Why did we have to roll around with those sheep?

  And all right, you want a confession? I’ll tell you. I rode my bike in the wrong direction on purpose. (sighs) I was hoping I could ride off to the woods where no one would see me and take a nap. That way, by the time I returned the whole darn thing would be over and I could rest. But I scared myself not knowing what was in the woods, so I pedaled like mad just to catch up to the group and the sheep—yuck! And then we were about to finish before Cooper and Todd. (She buries her face.) Lordie! I just had to spill that milk.

  (She glances over her shoulder.) DeeCee’s still crying about it over there, crying over spilled milk. Ha!

  Anyway, me? I’m looking forward to the next chapter in my life. I hope Nashville will call, but maybe first a little stop in Paris to visit with my friend Eiffel.

  (wiggling her fingers at the camera) Georgia and Gordon, Todd and Cooper—you big hunk of man—I wish you all the best of luck. It really is going to be a tough one to call and, you know (she shoots the camera with her finger and imitates Harris’s voice) you have to expect the unexpected.

  • • •

  The ride back to the bed-and-breakfast was horrible. We were all smelly and worn out, both from wrestling sheep and cycling in the heat.

  Even though I was physically exhausted, I itched to get back to the Jaca to speak with Sergio. Guilt plagued me for taking the phone and I knew I’d have to confess.

  When the bus pulled into the alleyway, we all piled out. By some miracle, we’d beat the convertible back to the B&B. Dad patted my shoulder and said, “Honey, I’m off to a hot shower and then bed. Before Cheryl gets here and makes me go out dancing.”

  I laughed. “Yes, hide from her Dad. Hide!”

  “You should do the same,” he said.

  “Hide from Cheryl?”

  He chuckled. “No, you couldn’t hide from her if you tried. I meant take a shower and get to bed. And rest that ankle.” He kissed me on the check. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Daisy and DeeCee were flirting with Cooper, and since the girls would likely be gone the next morning, they mutually decided to party all night.

  How could they stay up after all we’d been through that day?

  Todd tromped off to his room almost as quickly as Dad did. I retreated to the bar area hoping to find Sergio. Juan Jose was alone at the bar, huddled over a laptop and staring at the screen.

  “Have you seen Sergio?” I asked.

  Juan Jose jolted up from the laptop. I’d clearly startled him. His eyes were bloodshot and the growth of his beard heavy. “I haven’t seen him in a while, why?”

  “I just wanted to talk to him about somet
hing. Are you working on the logistics? They have you running around a lot, huh?”

  “Yes. I need to book flights for Daisy and DeeCee.”

  “Have they been given the go-ahead to leave the country, then?”

  Juan Jose nodded. “Yes, this afternoon. I was a given a list of the cast members allowed to leave. I hadn’t been able to book a flight because I needed to plan tomorrow’s event and I didn’t know who would lose.”

  I asked. “Hey, was my name on the list?”

  “What?”

  “You said Sergio gave you a list of who was cleared to leave the country.”

  He leveled a gaze at me. “Oh, I don’t think I’m supposed to say.”

  “I understand.”

  There was a manila envelope between us and I itched to grab it. Seeing that list was akin to knowing who Sergio’s main suspects were. I tried to distract Juan Jose. “So, there’s already an event planned for tomorrow?”

  He gave me a sad smile. “Oh, yes. We know the final challenge.”

  I sat down next to him and propped my foot on the bar stool nearby. “Any chance you’ll let slip what the event is?”

  He shook his head. “I could get fired and I need the job.”

  “Right. Sorry,” I said.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to be here. I thought you went to talk to Miguel’s parents.”

  Juan Jose bit his lip. “I did. I had lunch with them this afternoon.” He bowed his head as if he didn’t want to say anything further.

  “Did you know him very well?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “We weren’t good friends. It’s just that Jaca is a small town and everyone knows everybody. My parents go to church with his, you know.”

  “Do you think he overdosed on purpose?”

  “I don’t know.” Juan Jose closed the laptop and stood.

  Señora Antonia came into the bar area holding a tray of sandwiches. The musky smell of txistorra sausage, a Spanish specialty seasoned with garlic and red pepper, wafting from the tray. She smiled when she saw me and pushed the tray close. “Eat! Eat!”

  I happily reached for the sandwich, a slab of crusty baguette with a hunk of txistorra sticking out.

  The senora said something to Juan Jose in Spanish.

  He smiled at me. “Excuse me, the senora needs my help reaching something.” He stood and followed her out of the room.

  It was just me, the manila envelope, and my itchy fingers that were now smeared with sausage oil. I grabbed a napkin to wipe my hands.

  Since when did I steal evidence and mess with an ongoing investigation?

  Oh, heck, Scott’s neck was on the line.

  As I reached for the envelope I heard footsteps behind me.

  Please let it be my Dad or Becca, I prayed.

  I turned to see Sergio. He was dressed in white clothes, with the red sash secured around his trim waist. He had the night off.

  “Hola, Georgia, I heard you are still in the competition, congratulations.”

  My hand rested on the manila folder as I pretended it was mine, but my cheeks burned and guilt seared through me. The ridiculous thought occurred to me that I wished I’d had the chance to shower, but I was grateful that at least I hadn’t wrestled any sheep.

  Sergio glanced down at the folder and cocked an eyebrow at me. Did nothing escape his gaze?

  I removed my hand. “Have I been cleared to return to the U.S.?”

  “Are you leaving? I thought you were still in the game?”

  My stomach churned. I was so tired of games. “I’m still on the show. I just wondered. I figured if I’ve been cleared to travel, then I’m not a suspect anymore.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” He sat down next to me and reached for a sandwich. “Mmm txistorra. My favorite.” He leaned into me, his shoulder bumping mine in an attempt to lift my spirits. “What do you eat in the United States? Hamburgers and french fries?”

  I laughed. “That’s such a cliché!”

  He chuckled. “Hot dogs, too, maybe, or”—he made a face—“macaroni and cheese?”

  “We have better food than that,” I said.

  He smiled and teased, “Kentucky Fried Chicken?” I socked his arm and he shifted away me, laughing.

  We ate in silence for a moment and I hate to admit that I swallowed the sandwich practically whole and reached for another.

  Sergio glanced at my ankle. “No dancing for you tonight.”

  “No. I have to get to bed early.” A bit of sadness washed over me as I realized that Sergio was likely on his way to the fiestas and I would be at the B&B. Then I remembered the evidence I stole out of Miguel’s room and shame engulfed me. I had to tell Sergio.

  I took a breath and turned to him, startled to find that his dark eyes were on me. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel completely transparent. Did he already know I’d lifted Scott’s phone?

  “Do you know anything about Miguel’s death you can share with me?” I asked.

  He reached for another sandwich. “How bad is your ankle?”

  “What?”

  “Maybe we can trade.”

  “Trade what?” I asked.

  He smiled. “A dance for information.”

  I laughed. “I can’t dance.”

  He bit into the sandwich. “Maybe I can think up another trade.”

  The senora came back into the bar and greeted Sergio warmly. They exchanged pleasantries in Spanish and I noticed that Sergio pointed at my ankle. The senora came closer to me and hugged my head to her large bosom muttering, “¡Ay! Pobre Georgia!”

  She said something else I didn’t understand, but it took all my strength not to weep in her arms. What was it about these kind people? I felt like the senora could have been my mother. She slipped behind the bar and poured us two glasses of red wine. Then she left the room again.

  Sergio sipped his wine quietly, presumably waiting for me to blab on. I knew the game. Stay quiet, let the suspect confess. Even better if you can ply them with alcohol. Instead of talking, I took another bite of my txistorra sandwich and washed it down with red wine.

  Finally, he said, “I have something to tell you. I looked into Matthew Barrett—”

  “Oh, yes.” I filled him in on what Cheryl had told me and he concurred that his research had uncovered the same thing. Scott wasn’t sitting on millions of dollars; he just simply had worked for hire on a book for Matthew.

  “I found something else though,” Sergio said. “I found the woman Scott visited in Spain.”

  My breath caught.

  “She’s seventy years old. Married to one of the richest men in Jaca. The owner of the Spanish Moon. In fact, she ran the hotel for many years. Grew it into what it is now.”

  Relief flooded me. Scott hadn’t been dating someone in Spain; he wasn’t off revisiting an old fling. He’d been researching a book!

  Sergio took a sip of his wine and said sadly, “She seemed as fond of him as you are.”

  The senora reappeared with a pill bottle and a jar of lotion in her hands. She passed the items to Sergio and left the room without another word.

  He opened the small pill bottle and placed two tablets next to my wine. “For the inflammation,” he said.

  I looked at the pills, something nagging at me. “Do you know how Miguel died? Has the medical examiner confirmed an overdose?” I asked.

  Sergio nodded. “Overdose of narcotics. It looks like he or someone else smashed the pills on the night table into a glass of water. We found the pill residue on the table.”

  “That almost suggests murder, doesn’t it? I mean, if he wanted to take the pills himself, wouldn’t he have just swallowed them? If they were smashed on the table and then put into the water, then someone else could have done that and made him drink it, right?”

 
Sergio nodded. “My thoughts exactly.” We were quiet for a moment. Then Sergio asked, “Did Scott do drugs, Georgia?”

  “No.”

  Sergio looked at my swollen ankle, then reached out and lifted my foot onto his knee. “He didn’t take anything for an old injury?” he asked. “Any prescription medicine?”

  I shook my head, but a thought nagged at the back of my head.

  Sergio unlaced my sneaker and lowered my sock.

  “No, don’t,” I said, attempting to pull my leg away from him.

  He held tight to my knee. “Do you think Spain doesn’t train the police in first aid?” He winked.

  I laughed. “It’s not that.”

  “I won’t let you die from a sprained ankle, Georgia,” he said, in a teasing tone.

  “Come on, let go,” I protested. When he didn’t, I said, “My feet smell. I’ve been riding a bike in the mountains all day—”

  He ignored me. “Do you know the things I have smelled as an officer?” He wrinkled his nose and said, “Disgusting.”

  With his Spanish accent, I think it was the cutest delivery of the word disgusting I’d ever heard. I relented and let him slather the cream onto my ankle. His hands were smooth and warm as he massaged the lotion into my skin and for a moment I was mesmerized by him.

  “It feels better already,” I said. “Thank you.”

  He finished working my ankle, but kept one hand on my leg, gently stroking my calf. Electricity sparked between us and my mouth suddenly went dry. I looked into his dark eyes and his gaze was so consuming it inflamed my blood.

  In a low voice, he said, “Not good enough to dance tonight, but maybe tomorrow . . .”

  “Tomorrow,” I murmured.

  He leaned in slowly toward me and time seemed to stop. Our foreheads met. His breath was on my lips. He whispered my name.

  Then from the doorway, someone else called my name.

  “Georgia!” Montserrat called out.

  Sergio and I both started. I overcorrected so far away from him I nearly toppled off the stool. He grabbed my elbow and steadied me.