A Second Chance at Murder Page 5

  “We were on another show and got a bit of a following . . . uh . . . fans?” I said. I paused to see if he understood me.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “So, my friend, Becca, convinced me to come on this show, because she thought we’d get good ratings. Do you know what ratings are?”

  “TV ratings? Yes, many people told me about these ratings tonight.”

  I laughed. “You talked to the crew.”

  He folded his arms. “They are obsessed, is that how you say it? Obsessed with the ratings.”

  “You got it. Yes. Ratings equal work. Lots of viewers, lots of pay.”

  He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Ratings are important to them. It’s as if they would do anything for these ratings . . . no?”

  A chill crept up my spine. “The ratings are important, sure. But I’m not clear on what you’re trying to say.”

  He leveled a gaze at me. “I looked at your background. You had said you used to be a police officer.”

  I cringed. I hadn’t ever really been a cop, not the way he meant anyway. I’d been a public information officer, basically a glorified PR person for the San Francisco Police Department.

  “Not exactly a cop,” I said. “Rubber-gun squad.”

  He squinted at me. “What’s that?”

  “I was a talking cop. I talked to the press, the media. I didn’t do investigations or homicide or anything.”

  He smiled, tilting his head to the side and appraising me. I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. “You have the face of a camera cop,” he said.

  I laughed. “Well, better than a radio face. Is that what they call it here?” I studied him for a moment. He was strikingly handsome in a chiseled sort of way and I cursed myself when I involuntarily glanced at his ring finger.

  “Here they use you for what they want. Whatever is best for them. Sad to hear that in America it’s the same thing. I thought people had more of an opportunity there.”

  Had I just misunderstood him or was he saying he thought I was more than a pretty face?

  I decided to change the subject. “Do you know who the woman is? How she died?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No, el médico forense will have to examine her.”

  Emboldened, I blurted out, “I can help you with the investigation.”

  Six

  I slept deeper than I’d expected, a sure sign that I was more exhausted than even I realized.

  When I awoke, Becca was already up and out of the room. My cell phone was on the dresser next to two plastic-handled shopping bags. I padded over and grabbed my phone to see if I had any messages. I’d called Scott’s mother the evening before, but got her voice mail. Checking my phone alerts, I realized she hadn’t called me back yet. I wanted to try her again, but it was past midnight in California right now. I’d have to try her again later.

  Peeking into the bags, I saw they were filled with garments probably intended to replace my clothes left in the Pyrenees. I rummaged through the bags, finding a skimpy, practically see-through flowered top and a hot-pink leather miniskirt. In the other bag was a pair of matching stilettos. These items had Kyle’s signature all over them.

  I turned away from the bags and reached for a pair of Becca’s jeans. They were a size larger than what I usually wore, but having grown up together, Becca and I were used to living in each other closets. I didn’t mind that the jeans were a bit baggy on me, better that then the awful miniskirt and stilettos Kyle had selected. At the bottom of Becca’s bag, I found a tan halter and put that on under the see-through flowered top. At least my modesty would be preserved.

  I stepped into my hiking boots from the day before, and gathered my dirty clothes in a heap. If I could find the nice senora who ran the B&B, I could likely talk her into letting me use the washing machine.

  The hallway corridor was eerily quiet and the shared lavatory was empty. I quickly brushed my teeth and washed my face, then headed downstairs. I found the senora wiping the bar counter. She gave a wide smile when she saw me.

  “Give me the dirty clothes,” she said taking them from me. “I’ll clean them this afternoon.” Before I could protest she asked, “Café con leche?”

  I nodded and looked around the immaculate dining hall. “Where is everyone?”

  “Most have gone to see Jaca today. Shopping and maybe to see the medieval walls and torres.” She gave a satisfied nod, like she was proud of what her town had to offer tourists. “You don’t like to go with them?”

  I could safely say that sightseeing was the furthest thing from my mind, but I didn’t want to be rude. “I needed to sleep,” I said. “I have a few things to figure out.”

  She steamed the milk for my coffee. “Ah. Los policías?” She indicated the room off the dining hall they used as headquarters last night.

  When I turned to look I saw that the door was open and Sergio and Montserrat were in a huddle. Then as if she sensed me watching, Montserrat stiffened and turned toward me. She offered me a tight smile, then closed the door.

  Damn.

  I turned back to the senora.

  She put the café con leche in front me and asked, “It’s about the young woman, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I said, not certain if I should elaborate. “Do you know who she was?”

  “Annalise Rodriguez,” she said, with a hardness in her eyes.

  This surprised me. If the senora knew the woman, why wasn’t she sad?

  I sipped my café con leche, letting the hardness simmer. Experience told me that usually a story followed a look like that. She glanced at the police’s makeshift office, then over her shoulder. “ETA,” she whispered. “Terrorista.”

  • • •

  The senora had been unwilling to elaborate on ETA, so I spent the morning wandering around the bed-and-breakfast trying to get the best Internet signal I could on my cell phone in order to do some research. I’d ended up in the gardens of the B&B under an olive tree.

  ETA stood for Euskadi Ta Askatasuna; which meant “Basque Country and Freedom.” It was a paramilitary group with the goal of gaining independence for the Basque Country in northern Spain and southwestern France. The group was responsible for almost a thousand murders, thousands of injuries, and orchestrating dozens of kidnappings. They had a logo that was prominently displayed on a Web page I’d read: a snake wrapped around an ax.

  If the woman, Annalise, was a known member of ETA, then certainly there were plenty of motives for her murder. However, on the surface, I couldn’t attach a motive to anyone in our cast, but what about the local crew members, Miguel and Juan Jose?

  Were they part of the ETA?

  I could ask Sergio, but the way he stiffened last night after I’d offered to help with the investigation told me he wouldn’t likely be sharing any info with me, at least not voluntarily. Instead, I made a note to ask the senora of the B&B.

  As for the cast, I began by Googling Cooper. He’d had a pretty long career with the NFL. The media loved him. Lots of articles on his generous philanthropic donations.

  Why was he on the show?

  Had his NFL money dried up?

  I probed a bit further and read that he’d been married, but now there seemed to be a messy divorce underway. Likely starring on a reality show, even if he didn’t win the prize money, would boost his celebrity status, bringing in lots of sponsor offers.

  Okay, so Cooper probably needed the money, but that wasn’t enough to tie him to the woman and I certainly didn’t see any obvious connections to the terrorist group ETA.

  Next I researched Cooper’s partner, Todd. He seemed to show up in a lot of photos next to Cooper, but wasn’t mentioned in most of the articles. All I could learn from the Internet was that they’d grown up together and were good friends.

  DeeCee and Daisy really didn’t have an Internet presence;
I found only a homemade website with a link to their country music demo, also homemade, but they had a lot of talent.

  The mother-and-son team, Helen and Eric, had only Facebook pages, on which recent posts promised “juicy” reveals. I knew, according to our contracts, they weren’t allowed to announce on any social-media sites that they’d been picked for Expedition Improbable. I found out Eric’s wife was home pregnant and missing him as he was on a mysterious “business trip.”

  Parker and Victoria were equally muted on social media, at least in terms of current events and posts, but as I poked around Victoria’s Facebook page, I saw that she’d graduated from the University of Nevada, Reno, with a degree in political science and a minor in Basque studies. She’d even participated in a study abroad program in Bilbao, Spain, at the University of the Basque Country.

  Goosebumps grew on my arms as I clicked on a photo of Victoria wearing a T-shirt with a snake wrapped around an ax.

  Oh, my goodness!

  Could Victoria have met Annalise in her previous travels to Spain?

  My heart sped up and I took a deep breath to enjoy the heady feeling of discovering an unexpected lead. “I got you, Victoria! I got you.” I exclaimed to myself.

  Suddenly, I heard a rustling in the garden. Startled, I looked up to find Becca waving at me as she approached.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

  I sprang to my feet. “Becca, I have news!”

  She rushed over to me. “Me, too!”

  My heart pounded through my chest. “You do? Is it Scott? Is he okay?” I glanced around the garden frantically as if Scott would magically appear.

  Becca shook her head. “Oh, no, nothing like that. Sorry, honey. I don’t have any news about him. It’s just that I wanted you to know that Cheryl and your dad will be here soon.”

  A feeling of warm relief flooded me and I wrapped my arms around Becca’s neck. “Thank God.”

  Dad was on his way.

  Everything would be fine now. He would help me find Scott. At the same moment that I found solace in Dad’s arrival, the logical part of my brain screamed out that Dad’s being here was in no way connected to Scott actually reappearing.

  “When do they get here?”

  Becca glanced at her watch. “About an hour, but we need to talk first.”

  “What it is?” I asked.

  She leaned against the olive tree, raising a hand to shade her eyes from the springtime sun. “Cheryl is going to put pressure on us to get filming again.”

  I nodded. “Right. There’s a lot of money on the line. I get it. Don’t feel bad. You can replace me. No problem.”

  Becca pressed her lips together for a moment.

  I watched her expression and waited for her speak. When she didn’t I said, “I’m totally fine with it.”

  “Cheryl’s not going to want to replace you—”

  “Well, I mean, I can’t do the show without Scott—”

  “We can replace him. We’ll get you another partner,” she said, without missing a beat.

  Anxiety rumbled through my body. “What do you mean?”

  “I know. I know how you feel, G. It’s just that I’m sure that’s the angle she’s going to push.” Becca squeezed my hand. “We have to get on with production. You know what this show means to me. If I can keep the cast and crew happy for the next few days, maybe rearrange the schedule—”

  I pulled my hand away from her. “No, I won’t do the show without Scott. I have to look for him. Don’t you understand, Becca?”

  She clutched at my arm. “I’m sure Scott will show up in a few days. I can feel it in my gut. I know he’s okay.”

  “But I can’t be part of the show if he’s not here,” I said.

  “Wherever he is, G, I know he’d want you to stay on the show.”

  “I need to be looking for him, Becca. I can’t just stand by and let the police—”

  “Georgia, there’s nothing you can do that we haven’t already done to find him. We trampled all over those trails. The police are investigating. They’ll continue to look for him. I’m sure he’s fine. I know he is.”

  When I’d gone through the police academy they’d stressed how unhelpful family and friends could be when they meddled in police work, but my heart wasn’t listening to my brain. I knew I could help. I was trained!

  I clung to the belief that I could be an asset to the ongoing search and investigation; even as a heaviness set itself against my chest, threatening my certainty.

  We walked toward the B&B and Becca asked, “What was your news?”

  “The dead woman was part of ETA—”

  “What’s that?” Becca asked.

  “It’s a Basque separatist group. Terrorists.”

  A look of alarm crossed Becca’s face. “Seriously?”

  I nodded gravely.

  “Terrorists?”

  “They’re fighting for independence for the Basque Country, but they do it like a bunch of thugs. Car bombings, gunmen, kidnappings—”

  “Are we in danger?” she asked.

  “I hope not. Anyway according to the senora here at the B&B the woman was a known member of the group. Maybe she did something wrong. Blew someone’s cover or tried to get out.”

  “They’d kill her for wanting out?” Becca asked.

  “It happens. In any mafia, mob, or terror group, what have you—if they think someone in the group doesn’t want to be involved anymore . . . say she knew a few things about their future plans or even the fact that she could identify people . . .” I made a slicing motion across my throat.

  Becca let out a low whistle. “Is anyone else on our crew in the ETA?”

  “Good question. Let’s find out.”

  • • •

  Once inside the B&B, I could see the commotion starting to wear on the senora. Most of the cast and crew were back from their early-morning sightseeing romp into Jaca and now it looked like Kyle was holding court at the bar. He had the senora frantically running around trying to keep up with tapas and pitchers of sangría.

  Kyle was flanked by DeeCee and Daisy, who were recounting in very animated and shrill voices a bargain they’d found in town. While the smell of frying garlic was heavenly enough for me to want to join them, the thought of listening to mindless chatter repelled me.

  I wandered over to the front doors and peered out the stained glass windows toward the driveway. A small black minivan made its way up the road. I yanked opened the front door and bolted toward the car.

  The minivan rolled to a stop, the back doors flew open, and my father leapt out toward me.

  “Daddy!” I yelled, racing into his arms.

  He embraced me. “Georgia. Gosh, honey, how are you holding up? Do you have any news?”

  “Dad. I’m so glad you’re here!” I said, burying my head into his chest, my emotions overwhelming me.

  My mother had passed away when I was young and the only family I had was Dad. He was in his early fifties and more handsome than most men half his age. I cried into his flannel shirt and inhaled his fresh, woodsy, outdoors scent.

  The driver’s door creaked open. The driver got out of the minivan and opened the passenger-side back door. Cheryl’s blond hair came into view. At six feet tall, she towered over the short Spanish driver. She said something to him in hushed tones and he swiftly began to unload their luggage.

  She strode around the minivan toward me and offered me an awkward hug. I’d nicknamed her “the Dragon Lady” before she’d hooked up with my dad, but I felt the name still applied. She was nicer to me now, only because I was Gordon’s daughter, but she gave off the same don’t-mess-with-Cheryl vibe to everyone else.

  She wore white cotton pants, a striped shirt, and strappy sandals; an outfit that on anyone else would have looked relaxed and appropriate for
a trip to Spain. However, because of Cheryl’s militant demeanor, the outfit seemed more like a uniform.

  “We came as soon as we heard, Georgia. What an absolute disaster. Have the police made any headway? Do they know where Scott is?” she asked.

  I sighed, then in a rush of emotion told them about Annalise.

  Cheryl’s face looked pinched and flushed at the same time, a calculating look in her eyes. I figured she was probably tallying up how long a murder investigation would delay the show’s production schedule.

  Dad frowned. “What does Annalise have to do with Scott?”

  I bit my lip. I didn’t want to tell him about the watch in front of Cheryl. Instead, I said, “Bad timing, I suppose. Let’s go inside and get you settled.”

  Dad linked his arms through mine as Cheryl barked orders to the driver.

  Inside the B&B the party at the bar was in full force. Cheryl took immediate control of the cast and crew, clapping her hands and calling for their attention. She launched into a speech about our delay and what her plan was to get us back on track. I tuned her out as I noted that Victoria and Cooper had joined the festivities.

  They seemed awful chummy. She was leaning against his shoulder and he had an arm wrapped around her waist. She was decked out all in black and wore a red beret, what they call a boina here in Spain.

  Had she just bought the hat while shopping in Jaca? Or was it a souvenir from her semester abroad in Spain?

  I itched to confront her, but Dad took my arm. “Can we get a word in private?”

  I looked at him, his blue eyes were serious and I felt my stomach drop.

  “Let’s go out to the garden,” I said. “I made a friend with an olive tree today.”

  My father escorted me out to the patio and we walked down the little dirt trail toward the shade tree. When we were sure we were out of earshot, Dad leaned in close to me. “I didn’t want to say this in front of the others, but I wanted you to know as soon as possible.”

  My throat went dry.

  “I’ve received an email message from Scott,” Dad said.

  I clutched at my chest not realizing I’d been holding my breath. “He’s alive! Oh! Thank God!”