One Grave Less

by Beverly Connor

  A battered car drove up and she recognized Patrik and Hanna. He had found some wheels. Maria and Rosetta walked over and waved.

  Hanna opened the passenger door and stood up, looking over the roof of what looked like a 1990s Eagle Premier with the paint worn down to the primer. “Look what Patrik found. Great, huh? We ride in style.” Hanna laughed and it sounded like music. “Get in. We go eat.”

  The restaurant was on the banks of a pond of perhaps three acres. On one side of the pond near the main restaurant were small cabanas with grass umbrellas. Leafy plants were planted neatly between the cabanas. The main restaurant looked almost like a luxurious version of the native long huts she and Rosetta had recently escaped from. The roof was grass and the structure was of thick timbers with no walls. The kitchen area was in the center. Tables with blue and yellow tablecloths, not unlike the tables in the lobby of the hotel where they were staying, lined the room. It was crowded. Maria liked it. They wouldn’t stand out in a crowd.

  Patrik and Hanna led them to a table with several others from their tour group. Some of them Maria had met, some she hadn’t. They sat down and looked at the menu.

  Maria and Rosetta ordered caruru, a shrimp dish with onions, okra, and nuts seasoned with palm oil, along with acarajé—deep-fried black-eyed peas—and rice. Patrik ordered them drinks of something called Inca Kola.

  The two of them felt like they were feasting. Maria tried to not eat too fast, but she really wanted to put down her fork and dive in with her hands.

  “Your daughter doesn’t look like you.”

  This was one of the women across from Maria. She was a botanist, as Maria recalled, from Spain—Gabina, if she remembered correctly.

  Maria smiled and stroked Rosetta’s ponytail sticking out the back of her cap. “No, she takes after her father,” she said.

  “He is from here, then?” she said.

  “No, he is an American Indian,” said Maria.

  “Really? What tribe? They are called tribes, aren’t they?” she said.

  Maria suspected the woman was trying to trap her, as if she had seen the flyer and was trying to determine if Maria had kidnapped Rosetta. She was going to ask questions until she tripped Maria up.

  “He’s Cherokee,” said Maria.

  “Oh, from that place like the musical,” said Hanna, “Oklahoma.”

  “No, Daddy’s from the Eastern Band in North Carolina,” Rosetta piped up.

  She did it so fluidly Maria had to smile.

  “Eastern Band?” said Gabina.

  “The Cherokee were moved to Oklahoma in 1838 after gold was discovered on their land in the southeast. Many of them, including my husband John’s ancestors, hid in the mountains and stayed. Their reservation is in the mountains of North Carolina. I would like to call him. Do you know where there is a phone available? I’m sure he is worried sick about us,” she said.

  “The hotel has a phone,” said Patrik. “I used it just today.”

  “So tell us your story,” said Gabina.

  “We had fun most of the time,” said Rosetta. “Didn’t we, Mama?”

  “Most of the time. Not in the beginning, but the rest of the time was an adventure.” She smiled. “Rose is a little adventurer, more so than me, I’m afraid.”

  “Rose? I thought her name was Rosetta,” said Gabina, smiling.

  So that was it. It was the flyer, the name of the little girl—Rosetta—and the fact that Rosetta didn’t look like Maria. She and Rosetta had discussed the name and come up with another story. Maria was warming up to the lies they were telling. She wondered what that said about her.

  “Her name is actually Rose of Sharon. Her father is a fan of Steinbeck. Her grandfather started calling her Rosetta and it caught on in the family. You know how nicknames are.”

  “It doesn’t sound American Indian,” said Gabina.

  Maria grinned. “You think we should have named her Running Deer or Little White Dove? American Indians are pretty much like all of us. Some follow their cultural heritage to the letter and others don’t, and others bring it into the modern world. John is of the latter.”

  “What does he do?” asked Patrik.

  “He has a construction company,” said Maria. “He specializes in underwater construction.”

  “Underwater construction?” asked one of the others. “What does he build? Underwater cities? I never heard of that.”

  “He built this great aquarium,” said Rosetta, holding her arms wide. “It has this glass tube that you walk in and look at the fish. It’s like you are the one really in a tank and the fish are visiting you. Really cool.”

  “It sounds like it.” Gabina’s smile reached her eyes for the first time. Maria hoped that meant she was won over.

  “Tell me about your expedition,” said Maria.

  Maria’s new acquaintances spent the remainder of the meal discussing their upcoming trek through the Amazon and what they hoped to accomplish. For Gabina it was collecting flora. Patrik was taking pictures. Hanna was interested in cultural anthropology, she thought—she hadn’t committed to any one career yet. Midway in the tale when Rosetta finished eating, she put her head in Maria’s lap. It looked so normal that Maria thought it further cemented their relationship to each other in Gabina and any other doubter’s mind.

  It was dark when they arrived back at the hotel. No one was at the desk, so Maria and Rosetta hurried up to the room. She stopped at their room door and listened before she opened it. Perhaps she had watched too many movies, but she had a vision of opening the door and seeing the man in the straw fedora sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands and chin resting on a silver snakehead cane.

  She heard nothing, no movement, no breathing, no cane impatiently tapping on the floor. She unlocked the door and entered. No Sidney Greenstreet. No changes in the room that she could see. She searched the bathroom and under the bed. No lurking monsters. Still, she felt uneasy going to sleep. She put a chair under the doorknob, hoping that actually worked to secure the door.

  “You did good,” said Maria.

  “You did too,” said Rosetta.

  “No one was at the desk. I don’t know if that means they are closed for the evening and we can’t use the phone, or they are just away.”

  “Let’s go down and see,” said Rosetta.

  “All right. I need to call John first, because that is how we are going to get home. Is that all right?” said Maria.

  Rosetta nodded, but Maria could see her lower lip tremble. Maria hugged her.

  “I’m going to get you home to your mother. I promised you that, and I will. Don’t worry, okay?” She rubbed Rosetta’s back with her hand. “You’re doing fine.”

  Maria wished she felt safe leaving Rosetta in the room, but she wouldn’t have felt safe doing that in the United States. The man looking for them would probably recognize Rosetta. He wouldn’t recognize Maria. She took Rosetta’s baseball cap and pulled her hair on top of her head and put the cap over it, pulling the bill down to shade her face.

  “If we see him, I’ll give you the keys and you can run up to the room, okay?”

  Rosetta nodded.

  Maria moved the chair and opened the door.

  Chapter 49

  The hallway was clear. Maria expected trouble behind every door and around every corner. An uncomfortable feeling, but she supposed it did give her a survival advantage. Maria told Rosetta to walk and act normal and try not to look scared. And Maria would try to take her own advice. Of course, in a dire emergency run like hell. Rosetta giggled. They walked down the hall.

  The stairway was clear until they got down to the second floor. There they encountered several people also on their way to the lobby. They were dressed like they were looking for entertainment. Maria couldn’t imagine any nightlife in Benjamin Constant. But what did she know. She and Rosetta held back, letting the cluster of people proceed ahead of them.

  On the ground floor, she looked through the window at the lobby. People were
sitting at the tables talking, some milling around near the desk. No straw fedora. She opened the door and the two of them ventured out into the lobby.

  Maria walked to the desk and asked in her broken Spanish about a phone to call out of the country. She did say telephone in Portuguese. Patrik and Hanna knew that Rosetta could speak Portuguese, but Maria didn’t want anyone else to know, so she didn’t have the little girl translate.

  The clerk, a young male, pointed to a door with a window. Telephone booth. Good, a private place to call. However, it would cost them. Maria gave him money she pulled from her tote bag and went to use the phone. She felt almost sick with excitement. The two of them entered the booth. As Maria settled in front of the phone, Rosetta slid down behind her legs.

  “Bad guy coming this way,” said Rosetta.

  Maria looked through the window. He was heading in their direction. Damn. He stood near the booth as if waiting to use it. She was wishing she had the gun. She would shoot him where he stood. Damn it, we’re just trying to get home.

  Maria ignored him and proceeded with the call. Her hands shook, not from fear, but from anticipation. The word help never sounded so good. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man edge toward them. He was going to listen in. Could he hear much with the door closed? She didn’t know. The conversation would have to have a lot of code. At least John was used to weird with her.

  She made the call, praying he would be there. The phone was answered even before the first ring completed.

  “Lindsay,” he said. She heard the hope and fear in his voice.

  “John,” she said. “It’s me, Maria Ravinel. I know you didn’t want me to come on this excursion and bring our daughter, and you were right. I’m sorry. Could you come meet us here? If you could bring Betty Boop, Rose and I would really love it. She misses it. Her toys were lost. Everything was lost when we were attacked, everything. We are in Benjamin Constant, Brazil, right now, but we could meet you in Tabatinga.”

  Maria stopped for a breath. Throughout the whole conversation John hadn’t said anything. She couldn’t even hear him breathing, or sighing, or cringing. She wondered if he even recognized her voice, as scratchy as it was. He would recognize her middle name, Ravinel. And he would probably recognize the drama surrounding her. She couldn’t seem to ever get away from it.

  “Rabbit,” he said, using his personal affectionate name for her. “Are you in trouble?”

  His voice had its usual calm, but she could hear the edge in it, the confusion. Still, it felt so good to hear him. She wished he could reach through the phone and grab them both and pull them away from here.

  “Most I’ve ever been in,” she said. And that was saying something.

  “Can the authorities help you until I get there?” he said.

  “No. I’m sorry about this. Please trust me again. Rose of Sharon and I really miss you. She’s afraid she is going to miss her eighth birthday party next week.” Maria dropped Rosetta’s age a year, hoping to further disguise her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “At the moment. We’re at the Sao Judas Hotel. I used my real name—Maria Ravinel West. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ve been worried. I just discovered . . . Never mind, we’ll talk when I see you,” he said. She heard him tapping on keys. He was in front of the computer. Probably looking up a map and distances.

  “It will probably be tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “I’ll have to look for the Betty Boop doll. I’ll be there as soon as I can get there.”

  “Thank you for understanding,” she said.

  “I believe I do. What’s the number you are calling from, just in case?” he said.

  She gave him the number.

  “Rabbit, keep yourself safe. And Rose too,” he added. “I’m sure you have an interesting story to tell. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she said. “Please hurry.”

  “I will, baby,” he said.

  Maria felt resentment at straw fedora man. She would be feeling total relief if it weren’t for him standing outside the door, waiting. She felt sick and trapped. Damn him. She thought for a minute. She hadn’t hung up the phone yet, but kept it to her ear.

  Rosetta said that after the massacre she had to be pointed out to him by the other kids at the mission. That meant he didn’t really know what she looked like, even though he had seen her several times before. He was probably the kind of person who thought all indigenous people looked alike. She was now a little more than three years older than last time he saw her. He probably didn’t know what she looked like now, just that he was looking for either a Hispanic or indigenous kid.

  She put the phone back on the hook and bent down and whispered to Rosetta. Explaining her reasoning, and what she wanted to do.

  “Are you up for it?” she asked.

  “I can do it. Can we call Mother first?”

  “Of course.” Diane started to pick up the phone, then stopped. “Rosetta,” she said next to her ear, “if he hears me say your mother’s name, he will know who we are for sure. And I can’t find her and talk with her without saying her name. Help is on the way, but we will have to be very careful until it gets here. This man is a danger to us.”

  Rosetta looked disappointed, but she nodded. She understood danger and she understood careful. They were so close to getting home. They couldn’t stop being careful now.

  “Okay, ready?” whispered Maria. “Showtime. Brave heart, kid.”

  Maria held Rosetta’s hand and opened the door.

  “Can I go myself?” she said.

  “All right, but I’ll watch you part of the way.”

  Maria handed her the keys to the room and Rosetta turned toward the stairs.

  The man touched Maria on the shoulder.

  “May I speak with you?” he said.

  Rosetta pulled on her hand. “Mamaaaa,” she said in a long exaggerated syllable, “come on.”

  “Sure.” Maria smiled at the man. “Just a minute.”

  She turned to Rosetta, who had the bill of her cap pulled low. Maria let go of Rosetta’s hand and watched her dance and skip kidlike toward the stairway door.

  “Hey, você parece uma sereia pequena, Ariel,” said the man.

  Rosetta didn’t pause, or hesitate, or skip a beat.

  Maria followed along behind her.

  The man began whistling “Hall of the Mountain King.”

  Still no response from Rosetta. She went along like a happy kid, not looking back, not hesitating. Maria opened the stairwell door for her.

  “I’ll be watching as you go up,” she said.

  “Okay. Don’t worry,” Rosetta said.

  Maria watched her until she was out of sight, wondering what the man said and why he was whistling the Peer Gynt Suite.

  “Now, what can I do for you?” said Maria, smiling.

  The man took his straw hat off. He didn’t look like some homicidal maniac. He looked quite presentable, with his blond-brown hair, light blue eyes, and fair complexion. Maria still assessed him to be in his early forties.

  “Can we sit at one of the tables and talk?” he said.

  Chapter 50

  Diane gripped the seat of the black Ford Taurus so tightly, her hands hurt. She was desperately trying to come up with a plan. Any plan, even a bad plan. There was no way she was going to overpower this guy.

  It hit her suddenly like a blast of hope—Simone had. Simone had hurt one of them bad, maybe mortally. Maybe she got lucky, maybe the guy she was fighting was the C team. Still, Simone had vanquished one and got away long enough to at least say a few words to Diane. Oddly, Diane felt encouraged.

  “You try anything and the men I left back there will slaughter your friends. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Diane was sitting in the front seat with the man who had abducted her. He didn’t consider her much of a threat—he hadn’t bound her. The man looked to be in his early thirties. He was well mu
scled, thick necked, and had a buzz cut. He was decked out in Kevlar and weapons.

  “Yes,” she said, “I do understand. Tell me, just where did you search in the museum?”

  “Just why do you want to know?”

  “If you had searched the entire museum you would have found what you were looking for and I wouldn’t be here. I’m just trying to understand my fate,” she said.

  She thought she saw the edges of his mouth twitch in a smile. It didn’t last long.

  “We had someone on the inside who was supposed to know what they were doing. Now shut up and don’t ask who. Got that? You know I like hurting you.”

  Jesus, thought Diane, Madge was looking through the mail in the mailroom. Not Madge Stewart, surely. How in the hell could she get mixed up with these creatures? Not hoping for romance. These guys would have scared poor Madge to death. But, still, what a coincidence. And they could certainly drown her and make it look like an accident.

  Diane didn’t have to give him directions to the museum. He knew the way. He kept the speed limit. That was good. Gave her more time to think.

  Frank probably had already discovered her missing. But he wouldn’t know where they had taken her.

  Plan, damn it. Don’t waste time hoping for a rescue.

  The problem was the others back at the house. Anything she did would be relayed back to his cronies and they would lay siege yet again to Frank’s house.

  The only thing she could think of was arranging it so she could lock herself in the vault and call Frank to warn him, then call for more troops. Real troops.

  There were lots of weapons at the museum—hammers, nail guns . . . She could trip an alarm, or the fire alarm. And there was her security staff. They could bring down one guy, couldn’t they?

  Okay, she had some options. She could play it by ear and see what opportunity presented itself. Maybe she would get lucky and the ubiquitous museum snake that no one seemed to be able to catch would drop on him and it would turn out that he was deathly afraid of snakes.

  As they drove to the museum, Diane wondered why the night wasn’t lighter. There was a full moon. That’s when she noticed the trees moving in the wind. A storm was coming, she remembered now. There was supposed to be a storm every day this coming week. Great.