Misplaced

by SL Hulen

  “You get some rest.” Victoria stood restlessly in the doorway, knowing that the sight of Gracie’s swollen, bandaged face would stay with her for a long time. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

  She left the hospital and climbed back into Bea’s car. As she drove to the office, fury surged though her veins like battery acid and she pounded the steering wheel with her fist. He’d blindsided her, and Gracie had suffered for it.

  Eight sets of worried eyes turned on her as she walked through the office door.

  “Gracie’s doing just fine, but she’s going to take some time off. In light of what’s happened, I think we should close the office.”

  Maggie, the prim intern who reminded Victoria of herself at the same age, stared at her incredulously. “Let him intimidate us? That’s not right. In fact, I’m using this as the motivation portion of my law school entrance essay. Gracie made us promise not to call the police. We should though, shouldn’t we?” she asked, reaching for the phone.

  “Not now. Really, it would be better if we closed the office.”

  Maggie opened her hand, revealing a delicate but lethal— looking switchblade. “My brother gave it to me—for protection. Showed me how to use it, too. That bastard caught us off guard before, but just let him come back.”

  The receptionist, a twice-divorced, softspoken woman who favored colorful prints and could barely look clients in the eye, pulled a tire iron from underneath her desk. “For Gracie,” she announced, with fire in her eyes.

  “For Gracie,” the staff said in unison.

  Victoria swallowed hard. “All right. The busier it is around here, the less inclined he’ll be to do anything stupid—if he’s insane enough to show up after what he did.”

  She surveyed her office and removed anything that could be used as an impromptu weapon. The reproduction Tang horse, a glass vase, and framed photos were all temporarily exiled. Then she took the pepper spray Elias insisted she keep in her handbag and placed it in a top desk drawer where it would be easily accessible. After that, she poured a cup of coffee and noticed her hands were shaking. She checked on everyone once more before returning to her office.

  From the growing stack of files and messages, Victoria selected a few and made notes. She gathered them up and took them to Maggie’s desk because she felt nervous being alone. And, more than that, she wanted to keep an eye on the front door.

  “What if he doesn’t show?” Maggie asked, sounding almost disappointed. “We’ve worked out a signal—two beeps from the intercom means he’s on the way back to your office. All you have to do is pick up your handset and we’ll get the cops here in no time. And if he so much as touches—”

  “Slow down. You seem to have thought of everything,” Victoria commended, patting the girl’s shoulder affectionately, “which I appreciate more than you know. Here, see if you can handle these with the same enthusiasm,” she teased, setting the files on her desk.

  “How can you think about work?”

  “If we paid attention to threats, the work we do here would suffer. I won’t allow that.”

  The intercom did not ring twice that day.

  At four-thirty, when her last client had left, she placed a few files into her briefcase and waited for everyone to leave. Maggie lingered, insisting that parking lots were inherently dangerous places and she should not be alone.

  “I need to drop these off,” Victoria explained, waving a stack of documents that needed to be filed at the courthouse.

  “You’re not walking, are you?” Maggie asked, dismayed. “It’s only a block away on a busy street. And it is, after all, a place filled with policemen, detectives, and various other law enforcement officials.”

  “What I meant to say,” Maggie persisted as she followed Victoria out the door, “is, ‘you’re not walking alone.’”

  “Come on, then.” Victoria pulled the wrought-iron gate closed and locked it. During the handful of minutes it took to reach the courthouse, Maggie kept a sharp eye out for Gracie’s attacker. But then the stout-hearted girl left her at the bottom of the steps. “I can’t go in,” she said, pulling the switchblade from the pocket of her skirt just enough for the handle to catch the sun. “Metal detectors. I’ll wait here.”

  “Maggie, really, you’ve done enough. Go home.”

  “Like I said, Ms. Barrón, I’ll wait here.”

  Despite losing the argument, Victoria smiled.

  At this time of day, there was no waiting line at the security checkpoint in the lobby. After retrieving her bag from the security conveyor, she stepped inside an elevator car.

  She felt anxious. When it stopped and an unfamiliar man stepped on, her nerves tightened further. By the time he got off on the same floor, but turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction, Victoria found her heart pounding.

  Foregoing the usual chit-chat, she left the documents. She considered taking the stairs until the thought of an empty stairwell drew her back to the elevators.

  This time, it was perfectly crowded; people were going home. Victoria was relieved to listen to tidbits of conversation. Two floors down, a uniformed officer got on, and she felt her whole body relax.

  Outside the courthouse, a man who had been in the elevator approached. “Ms. Barrón, what good luck to run into you. I’ve been meaning to stop by your office. I have information about a client of yours that I think will be helpful.”

  “I’m in bit of a hurry. Can we talk tomorrow?”

  Where had she seen him before, this mustached man in a well—fitting grey suit with a self-important look? He gripped the handle of a shiny leather briefcase that looked like it had never been used.

  “I can see that you don’t remember me. My name is Arlan Mieley.”

  “Sorry, today’s been a rough day.”

  “Don’t you want to know which client?”

  “Who is it?”

  “The Egyptian girl,” he disclosed as a vise-like grip closed on her forearm. “Now smile and tell the young lady waiting below that you’ll be just a minute more.”

  Shocked, Victoria gave a weak wave, which Maggie took as a sign that everything was fine. She then returned her attention to the faces passing along the sidewalk.

  The man guided Victoria in slow, small steps intended to make them look as though they were moving when they were virtually standing still. His lids flickered. “I’ve come for the bracelet, and you’re going to get it for me.”

  “Bracelet?”

  His smile was false; he put it on only for show. “Attitude like that is what got that fat secretary of yours in trouble. You know—the bracelet, the one your friend was wearing at the museum.”

  Victoria stiffened.

  “Ah, so you remember now?” he sneered, exposing a severe overbite. “Suddenly, Ms. Barrón, you don’t look so well.”

  “It doesn’t belong to you, and it never will.”

  “That bracelet,” he enunciated slowly, “is the last piece of a monumental archaeological find. I’ve waited a lifetime for it, and that makes it mine. Besides, without the other two, its value is seriously diminished. I might even be persuaded to pay you something for it.”

  Dread prickled at the base of her neck and top of her shoulders. The courthouse, the people chatting as they walked away, faded. How does he know about the other two? she wondered .

  “Don’t take me for one of your ignorant clients,” he warned, leaning closer. “Tell me more about your companion. Has she told you how she came by them? Where did she find them? She looks like she could pass for a citizen of any number of third world countries, but I’m guessing she’s Egyptian.”

  “My clients are none of your business.”

  Mieley snorted. “You’ve worked very hard to establish your practice, haven’t you? It would be a shame for so many years of hard work to be undone. A well-placed accusation to the right official could damage your firm’s reputation.”

  “It’s you who should be worried; my practice has witnesses who saw you assa
ult my secretary. And, of course, I’d also accuse you of stalking—a serious charge these days.”

  Mieley loosened his grip a bit. “You have exactly twenty-four hours to produce that bracelet.”

  “Or what?”

  “Don’t underestimate me. Your uncle always said you’re a smart girl. He’s always bragging—”

  “How do you know my uncle?”

  “Oh. You don’t know.” He shook his head and exhaled heavily, his expression one of phony apology. “We’ve been good business partners these last twenty years because our motivation, while different, is complementary. Your uncle, with his Latin sense of honor, feels that smuggling artifacts out of Mexico is a way to save them from ruin. Suffice it to say that Elias handed you and your friend to me on a golden platter. How do you think the other bracelets came my way? Where do you think he got the fifty thousand dollars?” He waited for his words to have the desired effect. “My only hope is that you made a little something in the transaction for yourself. You probably couldn’t help getting involved. Smuggling runs in your blood, doesn’t it?”

  Victoria was speechless.

  Below, Maggie had taken notice and was bounding up the stairs. “Officer!” she yelled, grabbing the sleeve of a bewildered policeman. After a few seconds of explanation, the two were hurrying her way.

  “Ask your uncle; patience is not one of my strengths.” Mieley released his grip. “Twenty-four hours or, mark my words, I’ll ruin you and everything you’ve ever worked for. Good day, Victoria Barrón.” As quickly as he’d come, he was gone. Maggie and the officer reached her just then.

  “Are you all right?” the officer asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  After Maggie poured out the details of Gracie’s attack, he insisted on driving them to the center’s parking lot—but not before the stranger’s description went out to a dozen nearby units. The officer was also adamant they stop at the station and file a report.

  “I need to make a couple of phone calls first. I’ll come to the station shortly. Promise,” she reassured Maggie, who reluctantly got into her car and drove away.

  The policeman insisted on watching her unlock the door and waited for her signal that everything was all right.

  Smuggling runs in your blood.

  She rushed to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face, she fought rising nausea, pulling in huge gulps of air. Then she slid down the shiny tiles of the wall until her knees were beneath her chin and rested.

  Arlan Mieley had brushed ugly black strokes of doubt onto the landscape of her life. He knew her. Mimicking her uncle’s “Beektoria Barrón,” he rolled his “r”s with perfection and held the “o” long enough to make her shudder. She closed her eyes and placed her palm flat onto the cool floor to test its solidness; she felt as though she were free-falling.

  In a few minutes she would call her uncle, and his soothing voice would convince her of the grey-eyed man’s lies. She would abandon her foolish plan to take Khara to Egypt and send her home alone as he had insisted. He would be pleased about her change of heart, and things would be as they had been only a few short weeks ago.

  Victoria went back to her office. Several times she picked up the handset and put it down, unsure how to pose such a question to Elias and even less certain about how he might respond. The look in his eyes when she’d shown him Khara’s bracelets had answered for him. For an instant, he had become a stranger, his expression cool. She slumped onto the couch.

  An indeterminate amount of time passed. Then, from inside her handbag, the muffled sound of her cell phone ringing roused her.

  “Vicki, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  Victoria said nothing; she did not immediately recognize her friend’s voice. “You said it wasn’t safe for us to go home, but for crying out loud, what are we supposed to do?”

  “Oh, Bea, I’m so glad you called.”

  “Didn’t you ask me to?” Bea asked, and sensing Victoria’s hesitation, continued, “You don’t sound so good. Are you all right?”

  “Can you meet me at La Hacienda?”

  “Sure. Khara and I are on our way.”

  “You’ll probably get there first. But what about your kids?”

  “I left them with the sitter a couple of hours ago. See you in thirty minutes.”

  Victoria hung up and gathered her things, waving off the police officer waiting outside. “I just need to make one stop first. Soon as I’m done, I’ll drive straight to the police station and fill out a report,” she promised.

  Chapter Twenty-Five Victoria

  It was said that spirits haunted La Hacienda, and that the ghost of Don Juan de Oñate y Salazar, the conquistador who had colonized the Native Americans of the Southwest for the glory of Spain in 1598, waited at the river’s edge. Many of his soldiers were halfway across the Rio Grande when the cruel undercurrent took them down; they drowned under the weight of their fine Spanish armor. On warm afternoons, the ghost of Pancho Villa often appeared, drinking cerveza and gnawing on a roasted leg of cabrito. Within a stone’s throw of the restaurant, Victoria’s father had disappeared under the green water and her mother had been taken away. She came here often, her heart aching and full of unfulfilled wishes.

  Inside the restaurant’s walls, which were made of foot-thick adobe bricks, she felt a sudden chill.

  “I’d rather sit outside,” Victoria told the young man standing just inside the door.

  He smiled as though he understood. “This way, señorita,” he replied, without gathering a menu or asking how many were in her party.

  Outside, bougainvilleas washed the courtyard walls in fuchsia. The herringboned bricks of the patio were displaced by the roots of an ancient Mexican Elder tree that stood in its center. Victoria chose a table near the outdoor oven and sat down.

  “Can I bring you something?” the waiter inquired.

  “Maybe later,” she muttered absently, looking past him, hypnotized by the river.

  “It’s an afternoon for tall margaritas and old friends,” the waiter commented. “I’m guessing you like yours traditional, with extra salt.”

  “Thank you, but no.” Understanding that he’d been dismissed, he turned to leave.

  “On second thought, I could use one,” Victoria called after him. She recalled that the garden in her childhood home had blossoms the same shade of purple. Sometimes, in the late afternoon, her parents sat outside with glasses of lemonade, speaking in voices too low to be overheard. These were private moments, but not of an intimate nature—at least they had not seemed that way to her at the time.

  In those days, Victoria sometimes woke to find her mother checking the windows, counting her rosary beads, and wringing her hands.

  “What’s the matter, Mamá?”

  I’m waiting for Papí. Go back to sleep.” Her mother sounded worried. He always returned just before dawn, welcomed by her Mamá with frantic relief. But why? He ran a company that bottled soda. Where did he go at night? Victoria had never wondered before. But hadn’t the federales accused her father of running a smuggling ring? A sick feeling spread through her, and she took a long drink from the salt-rimmed glass. And then she thought about the relative ease with which she had dealt with Murgat; she hadn’t felt any guilt at all.

  Smuggling runs in your blood.

  She let herself out the patio door and followed the path to the river’s edge, where she stopped. Behind her, the freeway droned. “Lies!” she screamed, her heart bursting. More turbulent than the water rushing by was the memory flooding her consciousness. Papí had told her with absolute certainty that someone would be waiting for the Modesto family on the other side. How else could he have known?

  “Victoria!”

  She turned to see Khara racing toward her. Bea was a good distance behind, waving her arms wildly. Realizing how close she was to the edge, Victoria took several steps backward.

  Khara threw her arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Come away, sister,” she urged, the ac
he in her voice filling Victoria with guilt. “Bea’s been worried. She said you’ve never sounded so low.”

  “The man who’s been following us? He knows my uncle. They’re partners,” Victoria blurted.

  It was only after she’d dulled the pain with another frozen drink that she spilled the story about Mieley. Astonished, Bea declared, “Your uncle would die before he’d let any harm come to you. Why would you believe a stranger?”

  Victoria hung her head. “I’ve gone over it a dozen times; there’s no other explanation. The only one who knew about Khara—especially about her bracelets—was Elias.”

  “It’s not possible,” Khara agreed. Bea told Victoria, “Until you can look him in the eyes and ask, you won’t know for sure.”

  “Even then,” Khara added with a noticeable sadness, “you may never have the answers you seek.”

  Victoria stared at her empty glass. “I can’t. Not yet. And tomorrow, I’m supposed to hand that man your bracelet.”

  “The old Victoria would say things are just starting to get interesting,” Bea teased, poking her in the arm.

  “This involves family. And Khara,” she answered sadly.

  “You two should get out of sight and stay that way for a few days.”

  “How do you propose we do that?” Bea shot her a conspiring look. “You remember my aunt, don’t you?”

  “The crazy hermit who collects cats?” Within a few minutes, Bea had finalized the details while forcing Victoria and Khara to share a plate of shredded beef flautas.

  Chapter Twenty-Six Victoria

  Bea’s plan was simple; drive north to a remote New Mexican town high in the mountains. There, they would be safe with Bea’s Aunt Celeste.

  “I still don’t feel right about taking your car,” Victoria insisted.

  “Do you have a better plan? And are you certain that all he wants is the bracelet? Don’t mess around with this, Vicky. And for god’s sake, don’t be foolish enough to go back to your apartment. Duncan’s not due back for nine more days; until then, I have his SUV. I’ll let Aunt Celeste know you’re on your way. You’ll have some time to think things through.”