My Love Betrayed

by April Lynn Kihlstrom

  Edna’s rich, gentle laughter cut me off. “My dear! There’s really no need to apologize. It happens to everyone, on occasion. And I assure you, you were quite charming!”

  “I don’t remember much,” I ventured.

  Still grinning, Edna said, “Under the circumstances, I’m surprised you remember anything at all!” Her good humor was infectious and I smiled, causing her to exclaim, “That’s much better!”

  “Where’s Greg?” I managed to ask.

  Edna waved a hand airily. “Oh, at the office, I expect.”

  “The office?”

  “Oh, something apparently came up yesterday, and he thought he’d better take care of it right away.”

  I nodded, as if I understood, but all I could think about was how badly my head still hurt. We sat for several minutes in silence. Something nagged at me and, finally, I asked, “Edna, did Charles Whitford and I have a fight last night?”

  She grinned wryly. “Two, at the very least! I gather he tried to give you a rather expensive and inappropriate present.” She paused, then went on, “Being a sensible young woman, I imagine you resented having someone try to buy you. Naturally, Charles was angry at having his plans misfire, and the two of you said some rather nasty things to each other. Your voices carried quite clearly, I’m afraid, and I had to come in and warn you. Do you remember, now?”

  I hesitated. “I think so.”

  I shook my head, trying to clear it. Something didn’t seem right about Edna’s explanation, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I just didn’t remember enough. Edna misunderstood the gesture and said, “I know, my dear, but it really is better this way. Now you know what Charles is like. It’s not the first time he’s tried to buy a woman; they haven’t all been as sensible as you were.”

  Forget it, I told myself, but I couldn’t. “You said we had two fights. What did you mean?” I asked.

  Edna laughed, self-consciously. “You mean you don’t remember that, either? Both of you disappeared at the party last night. Greg and I were frantic! Finally, Greg insisted we come back here, before we called the police. Imagine our amaze ment when we found the two of you here, on the patio. You had passed out and Charles refused to explain anything!”

  “But the fight?” I persisted.

  Edna looked away uneasily. “We managed to rouse you and you said good night to Charles. He was tired and said some things. It doesn’t really matter what, does it?”

  “What did he say?” I asked grimly.

  She shrugged. “Oh, Charles is a prig! He can’t understand that it’s possible to, well, misjudge how much, well, alcohol one can handle. Especially at this altitude, when one isn’t used to it. And there seems to have been a stupid misunderstanding about some young man.”

  Suddenly, I began to remember. Stupid was right! Edna’s sympathetic voice went on. “Don’t worry about it, Ellen. His opinion really doesn’t matter. You had to see a lot of him when you were both at the Bamer, I know, but you don’t anymore. I’m only sorry that I asked him to come along last night. Usually, he has better manners.”

  I was quiet. Something was very wrong here. I was starting to remember more and more, and Charles’s behavior just didn’t fit. I realized, finally, that Edna was looking very concerned. I forced myself to smile and shrug. Then she smiled, apparently satisfied, and said gently, “Why don’t you lie in the sun a while and take a nap? You still look rather tired, Ellen.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” I said lightly, “but I’ll go inside, I think, for the nap. The sun seems very bright today.”

  She nodded. “Do that, dear.”

  I left her reading contentedly in the sun and made my way back to my room. It wasn’t the sun, of course, that drove me inside. I needed to think. In private. Where no one would interrupt me. As I said, more and more was coming back to me (except that final fight on the patio with Charles) and I wasn’t happy about what I remembered.

  The maid was tidying my room, and I waited impatiently as she finished making the bed. She gave me a strange look as she left. Or perhaps I imagined it; I’d never had a hangover before.

  When I was alone, I went over what had happened the night before. Moving around, talking with people, eating from the buffet laid out on the patio. Music and people dancing. Wine? Champagne? I must have had some, but I couldn’t remember drinking any great amount. In fact, I seemed to remember thinking that I hadn’t been in the mood for it. Go on, I told myself, what else happened? Ralph. The study. Charles and the bracelet. But it was all so hazy, and I couldn’t remember what anyone had said. Ralph again. Now I remembered champagne. But surely just one glass. Or was it two? Escaping. Being sick outside. Charles again. Walking. Walking in the dark. In the dark? Had we been crazy?

  I frowned. There was something important about that walk. I had to remember it. Something Charles had said. Drugged! He had asked if I had been drugged!

  My head spun for a moment as I fought to stay calm. Was that what had happened? When? Ralph? No, that was absurd! He was a guest. He couldn’t have followed me to the party. People knew him. But he had followed me in his car. How? How had he known where to look? I was sure I hadn’t told him where 1 was staying. But who else could have drugged me? It must have been Ralph. I felt myself becoming paranoid and tried to stop the chain of my thoughts.

  But I couldn’t. The idea that someone had tried to drug me at the party was no more impossible than the attack three days before. Someone wanted me out of the way. Badly. Could I afford not to be paranoid?

  “Charles, where are you?” I wondered aloud. Silently I added, I need you! You’re the only one I can trust, and I need to talk to someone. What am I going to do? I’m not safe anywhere, am I?

  But Charles obviously couldn’t hear me. Edna had said there’d been a fight. That Charles had been angry I’d been drunk. But that didn’t make sense. He was the one who’d said I might have been drugged. Had he changed his mind? Or, and here I froze, or was it something else? Did he know I’d been drugged, and was he trying to hide it? Why? And what did I really know about Charles?

  I shook my head several times. This had to stop! I couldn’t suspect everyone, especially not Charles. Besides, I thought, feeling foolish, he’d hardly have brought me back to the Ivesons’ if he were on the other side! I did need to talk to Charles. Alone. As soon as possible. And, for now, I needed more sleep.

  It was late afternoon before I saw Mr. Iveson. He, too, was very understanding about the night before. “My dear Miss Steffee, I assure you, you were very charming and no one was offended.”

  “Except Whitford,” Edna put in softly.

  Greg looked embarrassed, then angry. “Except Whitford,” he agreed. “That sanctimonious prig! I apologize, my dear, but it’s not as if Charles Whitford never had one glass too many, you know. But don’t worry, Ellen. You won’t have to see him again. I understand he flew back to Chicago today and won’t be back for a few weeks.”

  “Chicago?”

  “That’s what I said. You probably won’t have to see the man again,” Greg repeated impatiently.

  I was stunned. I could only stare at the Ivesons with my mouth open. And I almost blacked out. When I could finally think, again, Edna was already saying, “…relief. I don’t think, Greg, that you heard about the present. Whitford apparently wants to add Ellen to his list, and he-”

  “Please!” I broke in angrily. Trying to be calm, I took a deep breath. “It really doesn’t matter what Charles Whitford did, Edna, as you keep reminding me. But I would rather not talk about it!”

  Both the Ivesons were sympathetic and understanding. They immediately changed the subject to some neutral matter. And somehow I made it through until evening. Then Greg, more perceptive than I had realized, suggested a game of chess. He had a beautiful inlaid table, complete with onyx chessmen. Greg was an excellent player and I found myself with no time to think of anything else. Somehow, one game stretched to three, and then the evening was over, and Edna was
fondly saying good night.

  And, in spite of the kindness of the Ivesons, it was with relief that I retreated to my room. There, as I drew the drapes, all the fear, loneliness, and shock of the day closed over me. Once more, I cried myself to sleep.

  I woke to the sound of someone tapping at my door. “Yes?” I called sleepily.

  The answer was a jumble of Spanish, but I realized the maid was telling me breakfast would be ready in twenty minutes. Sure. Then it hit me, and I was out of bed and on my feet in seconds. I’d never be ready that soon!

  But I was. I reached the patio just as the maid arrived with the pot of coffee.

  Edna greeted me with a friendly smile and said, “You look lovely, Ellen. Sleepy, but lovely. Doesn’t she, Greg?”

  Reading a Spanish newspaper, Greg merely grunted. Edna made a slight moue and explained, “He’s hopeless before breakfast! Did you sleep well, my dear?”

  I said that I had, and we chatted as we ate. Or, rather, Edna chatted, and I listened. I’m not much good for talking until I’ve had breakfast, either. Nor was this the leisurely meal I had grown accustomed to since arriving in Mexico City. Greg was too eager to leave for the office. Frankly, I was just as glad. I felt much too restless to dawdle over a second or third cup of coffee. No matter how genial I found Edna.

  In the car, Mr. Iveson fired off questions about my work: what the problems were, what we had done, what we were trying to do, my prognosis for the setup. I answered as best I could, hampered by Mr. Iveson’s obvious lack of understanding of computers. It was a problem I’d encountered before. Unless you’ve ever worked directly with a computer, you tend to both underestimate and overestimate its capabilities. And the things that can go wrong.

  Any computer programmer can tell you that each computer is, in a sense, an individual, with its own quirks. Not that I mean to imply it can think or it has a personality. I only mean that before a computer can be used, a basic program has to be developed. And that program invariably carries the imprint of the people who developed it. So, if you are given two computers, identical in a physical sense yet having different basic programs, you have two different computers. The same new programs, run on the two differently programmed computers, may give different answers. So it is very important that the basic program is a sound one. We were trying to develop a solid basic program-easier said than done.

  I tried to explain all this to Mr. Iveson, but I don’t think I did a very good job. I guess I’d worked with computers for so many years that it was hard for me to remember that other people might find them confusing.

  Anyway, I think we were both relieved when we reached the office. As usual, Greg dropped me off at the front steps and then drove away to park the car. I went on in. The security guard nodded and smiled. By now, he accepted me as a regular employee.

  Carlos was already at his desk. When I walked in, he looked up and said, “Buenos dias.”

  His eyes were thoughtful, and it took him a moment to answer when I asked, “How’s it going?”

  But then he was as businesslike as ever. To my relief. After the last few days, I needed something solid and familiar. Like Carlos and the computer.

  So we worked. It was late morning when the interruption came. A young woman I had never seen before knocked at the door. Carlos questioned her in rapid Spanish. She fired back an answer, staring at me. I gathered she was talking about the police. Carlos frowned and asked a couple of more questions. Finally, he turned to me and said, “Conception says that the police are here and they wish to speak with you. She does not know why. They are waiting for you in one of the conference rooms and she is to take you there.”

  He seemed truly concerned about me, and I tried to smile reassuringly. Conception said nothing as we walked down the hallway, but I had the impression she was displeased about something. I was too concerned with my own thoughts to care.

  As Carlos had said, they were waiting for me in a conference room: the inspector, as I thought of him, another policeman, notebook in hand, and, to my surprise, Mr. Iveson. When he saw me, Greg came forward. “Ah, there you are, Ellen. These gentlemen would like to ask you some questions. Just relax and tell them what they want to know. It’s about the attack the other night.”

  Before I could do more than nod, he turned to the police and said, “I’ll be in my office if you need me, Senor Ramirez. Would you like my secretary to stay and take notes for you?”

  “Gracias, Senor Iveson, but that will not be necessary,” Inspector Ramirez said, with a gesture toward his companion.

  Greg nodded, then left, Concepcion at his heels.

  When they were gone, Ramirez motioned me toward a chair. “If you will please be seated, Senorita Steffee.”

  As I sat down, I said eagerly, “Have you found the men who attacked me?”

  He frowned. “Perhaps we have a-how do you say it?-a lead.” He indicated a folder on the table. “We have some photographs we wish you to consider. But first I have some questions concerning Senor Kemmler.”

  “Rick?” It was my turn to frown.

  “Si. I must ask you a delicate question, senorita. Did Senor Kemmler give you anything to deliver to anyone in the United States? Or even here?” I shook my head, and he went on. “Are you sure?”

  “The only thing Rick Kemmler gave me,” I said tartly, “was a pair of sapphire earrings and I’ve already given them back to him!”

  Ramirez said something in Spanish to the other policeman. There was an answer, and more discussion. Finally, Ramirez turned back to me. “Did Senor Kemmler have perhaps access to your room?”

  “I didn’t give him a key, if that’s what you mean. And he wasn’t there that often with me. What he did, when I wasn’t around, I haven’t the faintest idea. Why? What is the problem?”

  “I’m sorry, senorita, but 1 am not permitted to explain,” Ramirez said tersely. “Never mind. Perhaps you will be so good as to consider these photographs.”

  He passed me the folder and I began looking through it, taking my time, studying each face carefully. Time passed and someone brought us coffee and sandwiches. I kept on looking as I ate. Eventually, I found him. Pepe. There was no mistaking that arrogant face. I tapped the picture, saying, “That’s him. The one who called himself Pepe.”

  Ramirez came over to me and took the folder, turning it to face him. He studied the photograph grimly for a moment. Then he sighed. “Si. We know Pepe. That is not his name. He is fond of the Americano senoras and senoritas. Sometimes a ransom; sometimes a robbery. You are not the first.”

  “But they knew my name!” I said angrily.

  Ramirez sighed again. “Si. We believe he bribes perhaps the desk clerks in the better hotels for the names of Americano women.”

  I leaned back in my chair, stunned. “So it had nothing to do with Rick?” I murmured.

  Apparently Ramirez heard me. “It would seem so, Senorita Steffee. Unless we are dealing with very clever men, of course.”

  Clever men, I thought. Then, coming to a decision, I said, “There’s something I have to tell you about. You know, of course, that I’m staying with the Ivesons?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, Saturday night, New Year’s Eve, they took me to a party.”

  “Si, we know,” Ramirez interrupted.

  Impatiently, I demanded, “And do you know someone tried to drug me?”

  “What?” both policemen exclaimed.

  I had their attention now, and I flushed. “At least, I think someone tried to drug me.”

  I explained everything. Everything except the fight with Charles. When I finished, the inspector looked very grave. “I think,” he said slowly, “it would be best to speak with Senor Iveson. Perhaps he knows this Ralph Carden.” Ramirez looked at the other policeman and said curtly, “Senor Iveson.”

  The man nodded and left the room. When he was gone, Ramirez said to me in measured tones, “You will please, senorita, say only what I ask you to say.”

  “You susp
ect everyone, don’t you?” I asked, amused.

  “Si!” He nodded. “I suspect everyone.”

  Impatiently, I looked away. Did he mean me? Or Mr. Iveson? Personally, I suspected that Ramirez enjoyed keeping everyone in the dark.

  A few minutes later, the policeman returned with Mr. Iveson. Greg smiled at me, then turned to the inspector. “Yes, how can I help you?” he asked briskly.

  “Do you know a Senor”-he hesitated over the name, then deliberately mispronounced it “Ralph Carding?”

  Greg frowned. “Carding? Oh, you mean Carden! Why, yes, I do. He works here.” Greg stopped, looking from Ramirez to me and back again. “Is there a problem? Shall I have Concepcion get Ralph? I’m sure there must be some mistake. It’s unthinkable that Ralph could be mixed up in Miss Steffee’s problems.”

  I barely heard Greg. Ralph? Working here? As if at a distance, I heard the inspector agree to Greg’s suggestion. Then I heard Mr. Iveson’s firm voice call down the hall, “Concepcion!” And, a few moments later, “Concepcion, please request Mr. Carden to come to the conference room.”

  There was a murmur of Spanish, then Ramirez said smoothly, “Fernando will accompany the senorita.”

  So again we waited. Twenty minutes, at the least. Then Concepcion, the policeman, and a third man entered the room. Instantly, I was on my feet. “But that’s not Ralph!” I protested.

  For a moment, there was absolute silence, and my voice seemed to echo through the room. Then, suddenly, there was a great deal of noise. The stranger’s voice rose above the others, clear and angry. “Who is this young woman? Of course my name is Ralph Carden. Mr. Iveson can vouch for that. I’d like to know what’s going on! Why should the police wish to speak with me? I’m a respectable businessman and whatever accusations this hysterical young woman may have made, they have nothing to do with me! I refuse to waste my time-”

  Greg’s calm voice broke in now. “I’m sorry about this, Ralph. I’m the one who sent Concepcion for you. I don’t know what this is all about either, but I’m sure we will soon find out. Of course, we realize you’re very busy, Ralph, but you wouldn’t have been bothered if this weren’t important.”