His brows lifted again. “Permits? No, this isn’t about permits, Ms. Moon. It’s about murder.”
Penelope gasped, her eyes widening in shock. “Murder? What are you talking about?”
Garcia didn’t bother to disguise his suspicion now. It was apparent by the way he looked at her that he thought her guilty of something. But murder? Penelope thought in panic.
He shortened the distance between them until he loomed over her once again. Penelope wanted to shrink away from him, but there was no escaping that relentless gaze. “Tonio Vargas was shot to death last night. His body was found in a courtyard off Av. Mexico where you were last seen with him.”
“What? No, you’re mistaken. I never saw him last night—” But had she? She couldn’t remember whom she’d seen last night. Or what she’d done…
Penelope’s stomach started to churn again. She clapped a hand to her mouth, trying to hold back the nausea.
And then suddenly a memory flashed like a strobe in her head. “You’re in danger. We both are.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“You asked him to meet you last night, didn’t you? His housekeeper said he left in a hurry after receiving a phone call from a woman. That was you, wasn’t it?” Garcia’s voice lowered to a menacing purr. Chills shot up and down Penelope’s spine at the way he continued to stare down at her. You killed him, his dark countenance accused her. Why don’t you save us all a lot of trouble and confess?
“No!” Penelope moistened her lips, trying to remember. “I went into town to watch the celebration. I had no idea Tonio Vargas would even be there. I was shocked when he approached me and said we needed to talk. I thought it was about the exhibit, but…he told me we were both in danger and that I needed to get out of Mexico.”
Penelope couldn’t tell if Garcia believed her or not, but at least he was still listening. Maybe that was a good sign. “In danger from whom, Ms. Moon?”
Penelope shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything else. He just…left.”
“And what did you do after that?” Garcia demanded.
“I…” The strobe was still going in her head, only now it wasn’t Tonio’s face Penelope saw flashing. It was Simon’s.
The two of them were kissing in a courtyard….
There had been some kind of explosion…or a gunshot.
But that was only a dream. It couldn’t have been real. Simon was still in a coma. Penelope had talked to his father less than twenty-four hours ago.
She glanced at Garcia. “I’m…sorry. I seem…” She faltered. “I’m not feeling well this morning.”
Garcia’s face hardened. “If you can’t explain your whereabouts, then I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come along to the delegación with me.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong!” Penelope cried. “I’ve told you everything I know. You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with Tonio Vargas’s death.”
The policeman shrugged. “Perhaps not. But you may well be the last person to see him alive. Other than the killer, of course.”
OUTWARDLY, Captain Benicio Prieto, the precinct comandante, was the exact opposite of his underling, Garcia. Where the sergeant’s crisply pressed uniform enhanced his trim physique and ramrod posture, Captain Prieto’s rumpled and stained attire seemed to suggest a man somewhat lacking in discipline. He was around fifty, a tall, stout man with a bad complexion and an unfortunate mustache that he had a habit of twirling like the quintessential cartoon villain as he regarded Penelope across his battered desk.
However, unlike the dour Garcia, there was humor in Prieto’s dark eyes, and that had given Penelope a measure of hope until she experienced firsthand the man’s determination and patience—a combination, she soon learned, that made for a very effective interrogator. After an hour of his relentless grilling, she was very nearly on the verge of confessing to a crime she knew she wasn’t capable of committing.
“Let’s go back over your movements of last eve ning,” Prieto said easily as he sat back in his chair and entwined his hands over his paunch, apparently not at all bored or restless even though he’d heard the same story twice already. “You came into town last night to meet with Tonio Vargas, is that right?”
Penelope sighed, her own patience wearing very thin. “No. I’ve already told you. I didn’t come into town to meet Tonio Vargas. I never called him. I came to see the celebration. I didn’t even know he would be there. He came up to me and said he needed to talk to me. He told me that I was in danger.”
“He warned you to leave Mexico, you said.”
“That’s right.”
“But he didn’t tell you why. He didn’t elaborate on this…danger?” Prieto’s style was deliberately plodding, but from time to time, Penelope could detect subtle changes in his tone, as if the inflection in his voice might somehow nudge her into giving a different answer.
She said wearily, “He didn’t elaborate, no. That’s all he said before he left.”
“And you have no idea what he meant?”
“None.”
“That was the last time you saw him?”
Penelope nodded. “Yes.”
Prieto began to twiddle his thumbs. “You see, that is where the problem comes in for me. You say that was the last time you saw Tonio Vargas, but you can’t or won’t enlighten me as to your whereabouts for the remainder of the evening.”
Yes, that was the part that bothered Penelope, too.
Aloud, she said, “I may not be able to account for every minute of my time, but I know one thing for sure. I didn’t kill Tonio Vargas. I could never hurt anyone,” she said desperately.
Prieto shrugged. “But you can see my dilemma. I have only your word for that.”
“You also don’t have any witnesses, do you?” Penelope demanded.
For the first time since she’d walked into his office, Prieto’s affable demeanor wavered and his face hardened. “We are in the early stages of our investigation. A witness may yet be persuaded to come forward.”
Persuaded how? Penelope wondered uneasily. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that justice always prevailed. Witnesses could easily be manufactured…for the right price.
Her grip tightened on the arms of the chair. “Look, you’ve had me here for over an hour. I’ve cooperated, haven’t I? I’ve answered all your questions. You promised I could make a phone call.”
He seemed to consider her request, and for a moment, Penelope thought he would deny her yet again. But to her surprise, he nodded to Garcia, who hovered in the background, guarding the door. “Take her to a phone.”
“Gracias,” Penelope murmured as she got to her feet. Gratefully, she followed Garcia out of the office. He led her into a room with a desk and telephone and, then crossing his arms, waited for her to make her call.
Penelope walked over to the phone, then hesitated. “Do I need to call the operator for an outside line?”
Garcia picked up the phone, dialed a number, listened for a moment, then handed her the receiver. She heard a dial tone when she lifted it to her ear.
Garcia stepped away from the desk, but he didn’t leave the room.
Clutching the phone, Penelope still hesitated. Who to call? Her parents back in Houston? She could just imagine how her mother would react upon hearing that her third daughter was being detained by the Manzanillo police in connection to a murder. And her father? She’d never hear the end of it from him, either.
So who could she call? Helen? Penelope hated to think of her sister as an airhead, but Helen definitely had her blond moments and was not at her best during crises.
Cassandra was out of the country, so that left only Ariadne. Her youngest sister wouldn’t be a bad choice. In spite of her rather bizarre appearance, Addie had a good head on her shoulders and she was street-smart to boot. Unfortunately, however, she was back in Houston with the rest of the family.
Penelope needed someone here. Someone who could come to her
rescue immediately.
And then she remembered the number that her sister had given to her the night before her trip. Alex Salizar had wanted her to have it in case she ran into trouble, Helen said.
Well, she was most definitely in trouble, Penelope thought grimly as she fished the card from her purse. Staring at the number, she tried to remember what Helen had said about Robert Smith. He was an Amer ican ex-pat who had some kind of obscure position in the Mexican government. Whatever that meant.
But as long as he could help her, Penelope didn’t much care what he did for a living.
Her fingers still trembling, she punched in the number. A woman with a British accent answered cheerily, “Good morning. How may I direct your call?”
The woman’s accent threw Penelope. What kind of branch in the Mexican government employed Brits and Americans?
Come to think of it, Penelope couldn’t be certain that the number she’d dialed had anything to do with the government. The woman’s greeting had given no indication of the department or bureau for which she worked.
“I’m…calling for Robert Smith,” Penelope said doubtfully.
“One moment, please. I’ll transfer you.”
The line was silent for so long that Penelope thought the call must have been severed. But then a series of clicks sounded in her ear, and a man’s voice said, “Robert Smith here.”
Penelope thought his voice vaguely familiar, but she was certain they’d never met before. “You don’t know me, Mr. Smith. My name is Penelope Moon. Your name and number were given to me by Alex Salizar before I left the States. He said I was to call if I ran into trouble.”
Robert Smith was suddenly all business. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the police station in Manzanillo. They think I murdered someone,” she blurted.
“Sit tight,” Robert Smith instructed. “Someone will be there within the hour. And Ms. Moon? I’d advise you not to answer any more questions.”
Penelope hung up slowly, wondering if she’d done the right thing. She had no idea who Robert Smith was or how he planned to help her. But the cool professionalism in his voice had given her faith. She fervently hoped it was not misplaced.
After following Garcia back into Captain Prieto’s office, she sat down and waited for the cavalry to arrive.
Chapter Ten
Help came in less than twenty minutes, but it wasn’t a stranger named Robert Smith who walked into Prieto’s office. It was Alex Salizar himself, looking more handsome than Penelope remembered in a white linen guayabera and buff-colored trousers.
She jumped to her feet in astonishment. “Alex! What are you doing here?”
“I came the moment I heard,” he said.
“But…who told you I was here?” she asked in confusion.
He crossed the room and placed his hands on her shoulders. “First things first. Are you all right?”
“I’m okay. I just want to get out of here,” she said anxiously.
“I’ll see what I can do.” He turned then and said something to the comandante in Spanish. It sounded like, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” But Penelope’s Spanish was sketchy even under normal circumstances, and as upset and afraid as she was now, she couldn’t trust her translation.
In English, Alex said, “Ms. Moon is an American citizen. I demand that you release her at once.”
Prieto shrugged. “I can’t do that. There’s a man lying in the morgue with a bullet hole in his heart, and Ms. Moon is my only suspect.”
Alex placed his hands on Prieto’s desk and leaned toward him. “Then I suggest you have your men beat the bushes for another. Ms. Moon is innocent.”
Prieto sighed. “So she keeps saying. Unfortunately, I have only her word for that. And now yours. But I’m afraid even your recommendation is not enough for me to release her.”
“Then perhaps you need a bit more convincing.” Alex straightened and lifted his hand to his pocket, presumably to extract his wallet.
Prieto shot Penelope a glance. “Perhaps Ms. Moon should wait outside while we discuss her situation.”
Penelope wasn’t at all certain she liked the sound of that, but Alex glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
Reluctantly, Penelope got up and once again followed Garcia out of the office. Outside, she positioned herself so that she could see through the glass partition into Prieto’s office. He and Alex appeared to be engaged in a heated discussion, then all of a sudden, Prieto threw back his head and roared with laughter. Whatever Alex had said to him had apparently alleviated the tension.
Prieto opened a box on his desk and offered Alex a cigar. When he declined, Prieto chose one for himself and lit up, blowing a thick cloud of blue smoke toward the ceiling.
He sat back in his chair and puffed contentedly while he and Alex chatted for a few more minutes. Then, positioning the cigar at the edge of his desk, he picked up a pen and signed a series of documents that Penelope desperately hoped had to do with her release.
She saw no money exchange hands, but she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that a cash payment had figured heavily into the negotiations.
When Alex came out of Prieto’s office, she rushed over to him. “What did he say?”
Alex shrugged. “You’re free to go.”
Penelope clutched his arm as her knees sagged in relief. “Really? I can walk out of here just like that?”
“Yes, and I suggest you do so in a hurry before el capitán changes his mind,” Alex said dryly.
AS THEY DROVE AWAY from the police station, Penelope glanced over her shoulder, almost expecting to see a police vehicle in hot pursuit. But the street behind them remained empty, and she let out another breath of relief as she collapsed against the supple leather seat in Alex’s sports car.
“I was never so glad to see anyone in my life.” She turned her head to stare at him. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
Alex gave her a charming smile as he expertly shifted gears in the vintage Aston Martin. “No thanks necessary. It was the least I could do. Besides, your sister would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t come to your rescue.”
At the mention of Helen, Penelope frowned. As her initial elation faded, certain details were starting to worry her. “Speaking of my sister,” she said slowly, “Helen told me that you would be in Houston while I was here.”
Alex kept his eyes fixed on the road. “That was my intent, yes. But, unfortunately, there was an emergency at one of my family’s plants that required my immediate attention. When I arrived at the villa this morning, Elena told me what had happened. Naturally, I rushed to the delegación to see if I could offer my assistance.”
Penelope lifted a brow in surprise. “Elena is the one who told you? I assumed Robert Smith called you.”
He shot her a glance. “Robert Smith?”
“He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?” Something seemed off about Alex’s reaction to the name, although Penelope couldn’t say exactly what it was. “That was my impression when Helen gave me his number.”
Alex returned his attention to the road. “Helen told you that Robert Smith is a friend of mine?”
“I…think so. It was my understanding that you had given her his name and number to pass along to me in case I ran into trouble here in Mexico. That’s what she said. At least, that’s the way I remember it.” Penelope studied his profile as he scowled at the road. Something she’d said had obviously displeased him. “But I was in a bit of a rush that night,” she added. “I suppose I could be mistaken.”
Alex drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Am I to understand that you called Robert Smith this morning?”
“Yes, from the police station.” Penelope bit her lip. She didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken, nor was she comfortable with Alex’s demeanor. There was something almost sinister about him now, as if coming to her rescue might not be without a price. “Should I not have called hi
m?” she asked nervously.
He seemed to consider the question for a moment, then shrugged. “No, it’s fine.” But she could have sworn she saw his jaw clench in anger.
Seeing his reaction, Penelope knew she should probably let the matter drop, but instead she heard herself asking, “Shouldn’t we let him know that I’ve been released? I’d hate for him to make a trip to Manzanillo for nothing.”
Alex’s smile—not quite so charming this time—flashed again as he spared her a glance. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of Robert Smith.”
Take care of him how? Penelope wondered as they sped down the road. She tried to tell herself she was reading too much into Alex’s words and his expression, but it was difficult not to worry after the morning she’d had. She couldn’t help remembering Tonio Vargas’s last words to her: “You have no idea what you’ve landed in the middle of here.”
And now Tonio Vargas was dead.
Penelope shot up in her seat as they flew past the street to Alex’s villa. “You missed the turn!”
“We’re not going home.” His fingers continued to drum a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel.
Penelope’s mouth went dry with fear. What was going on here?
I’m being kidnapped! she thought hysterically, as visions of her bound-and-gagged body floated through her head.
But in the next instant, she reminded herself that Alex was her sister’s friend and her brother-in-law’s business partner. She could trust him, and besides, he certainly didn’t need ransom money.
She tried to swallow past her fear. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the airport. Under the circumstances, I think you should leave the country as quickly as possible.”
“I…can’t just leave, can I? What if the police want to question me again? I haven’t done anything wrong, but fleeing the country will make me look guilty.”
Alex shrugged. “Prieto knows you didn’t kill Tonio. But the Vargas family wields a lot of power in this part of Mexico. They could put a lot of pressure on the police to make an arrest, and without another viable suspect, Prieto would undoubtedly come after you again.”
Intimate Knowledge Page 8
