“So you’ve said.”
Penelope ignored the disparaging note in her sister’s voice. “And if you aren’t trying to fix me up with Alex, then why this invitation to stay at his villa? Don’t tell me it was entirely his doing.”
Helen smoothed a hand down the white dress, keeping her eyes averted from Penelope’s. “It was, I swear. And besides, he won’t even be there. You’ll have the place to yourself, and honestly, you’ll be kicking yourself if you don’t accept. His house is magnificent. It sits on a hillside with a spectacular view of the ocean, and the gardens are like something from a fairy tale.”
“You’ve been there?” Penelope asked in surprise. “When?”
“Oh, a while ago.” Helen turned and walked over to the bed. Carefully she folded the white dress, placing tissue paper between the creases. “I’m serious. You really should accept. The place is completely secluded so you’ll have your privacy, and his staff will wait on you hand and foot. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
“I suppose,” Penelope murmured, intrigued by the turn of events. When had Helen and Alex Salizar gotten so chummy? And why did it seem so important that Penelope stay at his villa?
She remembered the day she’d seen the two of them together. They’d been dining at a little out-of-the-way bistro that wasn’t at all the sort of place her sister normally frequented. Penelope hadn’t thought anything about finding them together until Helen had started babbling something about a dinner party, and then, judging by her nervousness, Penelope had jumped to the conclusion that her sister was trying to fix her up with Alex, just as their mother had done with Doug Fairchild.
Now, though, Penelope started to wonder about Helen’s behavior that day…
And she started to remember other things, too.
Like the recent tension between Helen and Grayson.
What the heck was going on?
“So what should I tell Alex?” Helen pretended nonchalance as she placed the white dress in Penelope’s suitcase.
Maybe you should remind him that you’re a married woman. And while you’re at it, maybe you should both remember that Grayson is Alex’s business partner.
Aloud Penelope said, “If I accept his invitation, how would I even find this place?”
“That’s all taken care of. He’ll send his driver to meet you at the airport. Oh, and here. He wanted you to have this.” She pulled a card from her purse and handed it to Penelope.
She glanced at the name and phone number on the card. “Robert Smith? Who is he?”
“An American ex-pat who has some obscure position in the Mexican government. No one seems to know what he does, but Alex said if you run into any trouble, you’re to give this guy a call.”
Apprehension prickled along Penelope’s backbone. “What kind of trouble?”
“Who knows?” Helen said dismissively. “Maybe with permits or something.”
“Thanks,” Penelope muttered. “Let’s hope I don’t need it.”
“Keep it anyway. You never know.” Helen came around the bed and air-kissed Penelope’s cheek. “I have to get going. Have a wonderful trip, okay?”
“You’re leaving?” Penelope followed her into the living room. “I thought you wanted to help me pack.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can take it from here.” Helen hooked her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door.
“But what about all those things you brought over—”
“I’ll pick them up when you get back.” All of a sudden, Helen seemed as if she couldn’t wait to get out of Penelope’s apartment. She opened the door and glanced down the breezeway before turning back to Penelope. “In the meantime, I’ll let Alex know that you’ve accepted his invitation.”
Penelope nodded, feeling as if she’d just been steam-rollered into doing something she’d probably live to regret. “Please tell him how much I appreciate his generosity.”
Helen tossed her blond hair over her shoulder and smiled. “Not to worry. I’ll make sure he knows how grateful we both are.”
Chapter Six
The Peninsula de Santiago, a twenty-five minute drive from the Playa de Oro International Airport in Manzanillo, was home to some of the most spectacular hotels and private residences in the world. Through the tinted windows of Alex Salizar’s Mercedes, Penelope could only stare in wonder at such luxury even though she had grown up in one of Houston’s most prestigious neighborhoods. But nothing in River Oaks compared to the villas and massive estates that clung to the steep, lush hillside.
Alex’s house was a sprawling split-level in the traditional Spanish style, dramatically set against a cool backdrop of palm trees and surrounded by flower gardens, exotic shrubs and carefully watered grass. Purple bougainvillea spilled over six-foot terra-cotta urns on either side of the entrance steps, and through the intricate gate of the front courtyard, Penelope caught a tantalizing glimpse of mammoth tree ferns and gurgling waterfalls.
As the driver, Mateo, got out to open Penelope’s door, a woman who looked to be in her early thirties trotted down the steps, her red dress swirling gracefully about her knees.
She smiled warmly as she held out her hand. “Ms. Moon? We’ve been expecting you. I’m Elena Reyes,” she said in perfect English. “I see to the house while Alex is away.”
The casual way the woman referred to Alex Salizar instantly piqued Penelope’s curiosity about their relationship.
“How do you do?” She shook Elena’s hand, then glanced around in awe. For once, Helen hadn’t exaggerated. “This place is incredible,” she said breathlessly.
Elena smiled. “Yes, it is beautiful, isn’t it? Shall we go inside?”
Penelope followed her up the steps and through the shady courtyard into the foyer. The main floor of the house was a large open space, exotically decorated with Mexican antiques, ceramics and the most exquisite fabrics Penelope had ever laid eyes on. The whole place was airy and cool—and beautifully quiet—even though the French doors stood open to the afternoon heat.
Elena’s leather sandals made hardly a whisper on the tile floor as she led Penelope down a long, spacious hallway. At the very end, she drew back ornately carved doors and stood back for Penelope to enter.
As in the other areas of the house, the bedroom was decorated with an exotic flair. Yards and yards of embroidered silk draped the windows and bed while colorful glass pieces artfully captured the afternoon light.
Penelope immediately crossed the tile floor to glance out the French doors, which opened onto her own private courtyard. She could hear a fountain somewhere nearby, and for a moment she stood enchanted as a pair of blue morphos flitted about a potted butterfly bush.
Jasmine tumbled over the walls, the scent lush and dreamy in the sultry heat. There were roses, too, although in such a tropical climate, they didn’t flourish, but grew pale and fragile on stems too delicate to support them. Penelope thought them beautiful just the same, but when she put out a hand to cup one of the blossoms, the petals disintegrated.
She turned back to Elena, who waited just inside the doorway.
The woman smiled anxiously. “Your quarters are satisfactory?”
“Oh, yes,” Penelope said. “The room is beautiful, just like the rest of the place.”
Mateo came in then with her suitcase, and Elena said something under her breath in Spanish as he brushed by her. He carefully placed the bag on an inlaid bench at the end of the bed, gave both women a polite nod, then hurried out.
Elena walked over to the suitcase and glanced down. “This is your only luggage?”
“Yes.” Penelope reluctantly left the windows. “I assume Alex—Señor Salizar—informed you that I’m only here for a couple of days.”
“Then we’ll have to make your short visit memorable, won’t we?” Elena brushed back her long, black hair. “Would you like for me to help you unpack?”
“I can manage, thanks.”
“Can I get you a refreshment then? Something cool to drink? Or something to
eat perhaps?”
“No, I’m fine. I ate on the plane,” Penelope said, and laughed when Elena wrinkled her nose. “It was filling, that’s about all I can say for it.”
Elena nodded. “If there’s nothing I can get for you, I’ll leave you to your unpacking. If you need anything, we have an intercom system.” She pointed to a speaker hidden behind elaborate grillwork. “It’s a bit antiquated, but it serves its purpose. Or you can just come and find me. I’m always around.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.” When the woman started to close the doors, Penelope said quickly, “There is one thing…”
Elena glanced back. “Yes?”
“How far is the Las Hadas resort from here? I have a business meeting there at four o’clock this afternoon.”
“It’s no more than five minutes or so by car. Mateo can drive you.”
“Are you sure it’s not too much trouble? I could call a cab.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” Elena smiled and drew the doors shut.
Alone, Penelope took a few minutes to hang up her clothes and put away her toiletries, then she went out to the courtyard and sat down on a stone bench to watch the butterflies. She could see the fountain now, although it was fairly well hidden by the overgrown landscaping. Intrepid nymphs peaked through ferns and delicate blue lilies as water trickled from a stone jug. A swallowtail lit on the edge for a drink as a green lizard sunned nearby on a terra-cotta seashell.
Through a wrought-iron gate, Penelope could see the ocean, a breathtaking blue glistening with diamonds, and a feeling of intense loneliness came over her. The place was so incredibly beautiful. So peaceful. It reminded her of all the brochures she and Simon had pored over before deciding on a Belize honeymoon. A honeymoon that had still yet to be. Might never be…
Penelope blinked back tears. She wouldn’t think that way. Simon would get better. He had to.
He’d wake up from his coma one day soon, and the two of them could pick up right where they’d left off. She would help him through his recovery, no matter how long it took. No matter what they had to endure. They would be together again because they were meant to be together. Penelope had known the moment she set eyes on him at the Morehart that destiny had brought him back into her life. Fate had made her skip lunch that day so that she would be there when he came in.
And now she was counting on providence to bring them together again. Providence…and maybe a few prayers.
HUGGING THE BASE of the sloping peninsula, the Las Hadas resort was a Moorish fantasy of courtyards, gleaming spires and winding staircases. An Arabian Nights wonderland of exotic gardens, bubbling fountains and, after dark, Penelope imagined, a canopy of stars.
It was the most romantic spot she’d ever seen, and it gave her a momentary regret that she’d given up her suite there to stay at Alex’s home, although she couldn’t deny the beauty and charm of the villa. Not to mention the privacy. Still, she wished she at least had time for a leisurely stroll through the grounds, but she didn’t want to be late for her meeting with Manuel Vargas so she hurried along the cobblestone walkway.
In spite of the sheer enormity of the resort, she had no trouble locating the al fresco restaurant where they had agreed to meet. The place was almost empty when she arrived. A young couple sat cuddled at the bar while at a nearby table, a man wearing a tropical-print shirt and a baseball cap had his nose buried in a newspaper.
The only other patron was an elegantly dressed man of about thirty-five. He was too young to be Manuel Vargas, but Penelope’s gaze lingered on him anyway. She couldn’t help herself. He was movie-star handsome with dark, smoldering eyes and full lips that curved sensuously beneath a well-groomed mustache.
To her surprise, he rose and strode toward her. “Ms. Moon?”
She tried not to stare. “Yes?”
“I’m Tonio Vargas. My father sends his regrets. He’s feeling a bit under the weather today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Penelope murmured, noting that the younger Vargas didn’t offer his hand. His tone was cordial, but she didn’t find him especially warm. Just the opposite, in fact. “It’s not serious, I hope.”
“Nothing a few days of bed rest won’t cure. Shall we sit?”
She followed him back to his table, and when he waved off a hovering waiter, Penelope took that as her cue to get right to business. Opening her briefcase, she withdrew a large envelope and placed it on the table between them.
“These are the documents your father requested, including copies of all the permits we’ve obtained from your government, a revised insurance policy with a rider that stipulates coverage while the masks are in transit, and an affidavit from the firm that installed the museum’s security system. I think you’ll find that every precaution has been taken to insure the safety of the exhibit.”
“I’ll deliver the documents to my father. You have my word on that.” Vargas’s eyes lifted to Penelope’s and something in those dark depths made her shiver. “But I feel I must warn you that I also intend to do everything in my power to keep those masks from ever leaving my father’s possession.”
Penelope blinked. “But…I don’t understand. Your father has already agreed to the exhibit.”
“My father is an egocentric old man who can sometimes be flattered into doing foolish things,” the younger Vargas said bitterly.
Penelope hesitated, trying to choose her words carefully. She couldn’t risk offending Tonio Vargas. Too much rode on the acquisition of those masks. “If you’re worried about the reputation of the Morehart, let me assure you—”
He gave a dismissive wave. “The museum’s reputation is not my concern. Nor is yours, I might add. You have exceptional credentials. An undergraduate degree in English from Smith, graduate degrees in Anthropology and Art History from Stanford. Very impressive.”
“You’ve done your research, I see,” Penelope murmured, disconcerted by the man’s intimate knowledge of her.
“Yes, I have,” he agreed. “And what I’ve learned about your colleague distresses me a great deal.”
“My colleague? I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”
His expression turned scornful. “I’m referring to the Morehart’s curator. Avery Bennett.”
Penelope stared at him in shock. “But Mr. Bennett’s credentials and reputation are impeccable. He’s worked at some of the most famous museums in the world, including the Metropolitan in New York and even the Egyptian Museum in Cairo for a short time. He has degrees from Harvard—”
Vargas cut her off with a disdainful snort. “I’m aware of Bennett’s credentials. I’m also aware that he left the Wexler House in Chicago under a cloud of suspicion.”
Penelope frowned. “Suspicion of what?”
Vargas glanced around, as if worried they might be overheard, then he leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “He was suspected of using the museum to buy and sell artifacts on the black market.”
Penelope gasped. “I don’t believe that. He has far too much integrity. He would never be party to something like that.”
Vargas eyed her coolly. “Are you so certain? Have you never wondered how a man with his credentials ended up in a tiny museum in Houston, Texas? You said yourself, he’s worked at some of the most prestigious institutions in the world. Why the Morehart?”
“I assume he came there for the same reason I did,” Penelope said a bit resentfully. “The Morehart may be small, but we have a very generous endowment. And thanks to Avery, we now have one of the finest exhibits of pre-Columbian masks in the world. Your father’s collection would be in very good company.”
Vargas shrugged. “I admire your loyalty, Ms. Moon, but you haven’t changed my mind or assuaged my fears. Under the circumstances, I don’t believe there’s anything further for us to discuss.” He stood abruptly.
“Wait.” Penelope rose, too. “If you would just allow me a little more time, I’m certain that I could put your mind at ease about Avery—”
“I�
�m sorry, but I’ve said all I came to say. Goodbye.”
With a curt nod, he strode from the restaurant, and Penelope, still in shock, dropped back into her seat, realizing almost immediately that he’d left the papers behind. She started to run after him, but then decided the forgotten documents would give her an excuse to contact Manuel Vargas on her own. Perhaps in a face-to-face exchange, she could somehow reason with the elder Vargas and hopefully undo the damage his son seemed determined to inflict upon her career.
As she tried to put together a battle plan, Penelope absently watched the man in the baseball cap follow Vargas out of the restaurant. She continued to track the man’s loud shirt until he and Vargas were both out of sight, and only then did she realize that the uneasiness suddenly sweeping over her was a feeling of impending doom.
THE MAN IN THE TROPICAL-PRINT shirt nodded and smiled at the similarly dressed tourists he met on the flower- strewn pathway. His amiable demeanor, however, masked his growing concern as he tailed Tonio Vargas to the parking lot. As he watched Vargas climb into a white Porsche, he got out his cell phone and punched in one of the half-dozen numbers he’d made a point of memorizing.
When his employer finally answered, he said grimly, “We’ve got trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tonio Vargas is threatening to pull the plug on the shipment.”
The voice on the other end cursed softly. “I was afraid of that. That’s why we went directly to the old man rather than negotiating with the son. We’d hoped the transaction could be completed before he got wind of it, but now he’ll have to be dealt with.”
“How?” the man asked, wanting clarification.
“Whatever it takes. Just make the problem go away.”
Chapter Seven
When Penelope returned to the villa a little while later, Elena was in the foyer arranging pink cattleyas and stalks of some creamy, sweet-smelling flower in a crystal vase. She looked up expectantly as Penelope came through the door.
Intimate Knowledge Page 5
