Gia and the Lone Raven (Gia Santella Crime Thriller - Novella Book 4)

by Kristi Belcamino

  That’s when Dolly Parton noticed, too. Suddenly, she grew silent and glared at me. I flushed and turned to Dante.

  “How’d you meet that one?” I tried to keep my voice casual. But we’d been friends too long. He raised an eyebrow.

  “A few days ago, at a bonfire.”

  “He’s pretty easy on the eyes, isn’t he?” I might as well give Dante a crumb because he wasn’t oblivious to my interest as much as I tried to disguise it.

  Dante smirked.

  “What?”

  “Oh, Gia.”

  “What?”

  “You’re such a dude.”

  “That’s the most sexist thing I’ve ever heard you say.” I shook my head. “Women can like sex as much as men.”

  “Or, in your case, more so.”

  “Whatever,” I said, enjoying the banter. “Just because you act like a monk doesn’t mean I have to.”

  He was more interested in having a relationship than getting laid. Which was why I found this Silas so disturbing. I couldn’t accept that Dante had fallen in love with someone else again so quickly.

  I was still smiling at Dante, filled with relief that our friendship was slowly returning to normal, when I felt someone at my side. Some guy who had been sitting beside me had disappeared, and Marc had settled into the chair, dragging it close so our thighs were touching. Under the tablecloth, I felt his hand on my leg, pushing my dress up so he could touch my bare flesh.

  I inhaled sharply. For one of the first times in my life, I felt unmoored by a man’s touch.

  “So, Gia ...” he began.

  “I’m sorry, but my seat mate has returned.” I interrupted. I jutted my chin at the man standing behind us. Marc glanced up and then stood.

  “Hey, man. Long time no see. I didn’t recognize you at first,” Marc said. “You hitting La Paz soon?”

  “Yeah,” my seatmate said. “Leaving tomorrow.”

  “Sweet,” Marc said. “Let’s meet there in, say, two days.”

  And like that he was gone.

  Dolly Parton, who I realized had been staring the whole time, raised her slurred voice.

  “This seat is free. And by the way, I’m buying. Order another round.”

  She snapped her fingers at the waitress whose cheeks grew red. My mother had always said that you can gauge the character of a person by how they treat people who provide them service. I narrowed my eyes at Dolly and decided to slip the waitress some cash because I somehow doubted she would get a proper tip.

  Within seconds Marc was seated across from me, turning his full attention to Dolly. He never gave me another glance throughout the rest of our meal.

  I was surprisingly irritated. His entire laser focus was on Parton. The hand nearest to her was under the table, and by the look on her face I could imagine just where it was.

  Wow. What a dick.

  In response, I kept refilling my wine glass and turned my full attention to my seatmate. His name was Austin. He was cute. He had a large Greek nose, full lips, and wide-set eyes. He was probably only in his twenties, but had premature balding, evident in a widow’s peak. He brushed his thinning brown hair back and didn’t realize it made it more obvious, which I found endearing.

  He was also awkward. He took a big gulp of his beer and turned to me. “Your scar is really sexy.”

  I ignored his comment. The scar on my temple brought back ugly memories of a man who was still on the loose. I stood suddenly. Austin helped push back my chair.

  I tried not to pay attention but couldn’t help noticing that when I stood, Marc didn’t even glance over at me. In the bathroom, I stared in the mirror for a few seconds. My cheeks were flushed from the alcohol. My eyes glassy.

  When I returned from the bathroom, both seats across from me were empty. I glanced at the dance floor but didn’t see Marc and Dolly there, either.

  Dante noticed, which pissed me off.

  “You snooze, you lose.”

  “Whatever.” I turned back to the guy on my left. Austin. Cute. Polite. But dumb I was realizing.

  “How do you know Marc?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  “I just met him a few weeks ago. He’s a totally rad surfer.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Wanna dance?”

  By then I was feeling drunk, and this guy was looking cuter by the drink.

  I stood and grabbed his hand, leading him to the dance floor.

  Later, after fooling around a little with Austin in his tent, I headed back to my own tent having sex. I was horny. But for Marc. It felt like such a betrayal to Bobby, though. And what a loser to lust after. Marc was the biggest player I’d ever met.

  Before I got in my tent, I removed the rain cover, opening the screened roof up to the night. Lying down inside, I stared at the sky above and allowed myself a few self-indulgent tears remembering Bobby before I fell asleep under the stars.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The first thing I saw upon opening my eyes the next morning was a face staring down at me through the screened roof of my tent.

  It disappeared. “Sorry, Gia.”

  Silas.

  “It’s okay. What’s up?”

  “Have you seen Cassie?”

  “Who?”

  “You know. The woman who rode to the restaurant with us last night?”

  Oh. Dolly Parton.

  “I’m sure she’s still with James Franco.”

  “Who?”

  “You know. That Marc guy.”

  Silas told me that Dante had been in town buying food and had swung by Marc’s place with coffee for him and Cassie. When he arrived, Marc’s place was empty. The landlord said that Marc cleared out last night. I realized I had no idea where Marc lived.

  We’d shut down the bar at three in the morning. We were one of the last ones to leave, and Dolly Parton was nowhere to be found. I’d assumed she’d left with Marc.

  I pulled an oversized flannel shirt on over my underwear, unzipped my tent and crawled out.

  “Maybe she didn’t go home with him, you know? Maybe we just thought she did.”

  I frowned. She’d been so drunk. I thought back to the missing persons posters I’d seen. This was not good. But then again, maybe she’d hit the road with the playboy. He obviously was more into her than me. He’d made that damn clear.

  I reached back into the tent and grabbed some cut-off Levi’s shorts. I tugged them on and ran a finger through my tangled hair. “I’ll head into town and ask around.”

  “Thanks,” Silas said. “Dante is worried about her.”

  I paused. Might as well say it, even though it stung to say the words out loud. “What if she went with that Marc guy wherever he went?”

  Silas shrugged and made a face. “But she wouldn’t leave her RV,” He pointed to a shiny Mercedes motorhome near the parking lot. “Or her dog.”

  “Her dog?”

  “Yeah. Pebbles. Her Shih Tzu. That’s one reason Dante is worried. It’s been barking since five in the morning. We might have to break the window to get him out. Otherwise it will get too hot in there. It’ll cook him.”

  IT WAS NEARLY NOON, and Mulegé was bustling with people shopping and eating.

  The restaurant manager said they didn’t have any surveillance cameras, so I wouldn’t be able to confirm when Cassie had left or whom she had left with.

  As I walked back to the Jeep, I stopped at the tourist office and asked to use one of the phones to call Mrs. Marino collect. The clerk pushed a phone across the counter.

  “Found him. He’s safe,” I said as soon as Mrs. Marino accepted my call. “I’m here with him. At a campground near Mulegé. It’s a really lovely area, and I have to say ... I think he’s doing well.”

  She exhaled loudly. “Oh, thank God.”

  Then she burst into tears. “He’s okay?”

  I thought about it for a second before answering. “I think this is good for him. He has a really nice group of friends here who seem to really care about him. I think
this is what he needs.”

  There was a pause.

  “You’re not bringing him home for Christmas, are you?”

  That was only two weeks away.

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Oh.”

  “I think I’m going to stay down here for a little while, too. If Django is too much work, I can send a friend down to get him.”

  I missed my dog, but knew he was in good hands at her Carmel house.

  “No!” Her vehemence surprised me. “I love having him around. He’s fine here with me. Take as much time as you need, honey. And keep an eye on Dante for me.”

  I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes. “Okay. Are you sure about watching Django?”

  “Yes. But please try to call me at least once a week so I know you’re both okay.”

  I agreed and hung up. I dialed my cell phone carrier’s 1-800 number and was transferred and put on hold and then hung up on. I tried again and was left on hold for so long that I started to get hungry. Finally, I was able to get to a live person. The woman said it wasn’t her department, but she would get a message to the correct department letting them know I wanted to activate my international service immediately. I hung up. Good. I’d need my phone. I planned on being here a while.

  I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to go home. The allure of the brilliant Mexican sunshine and the beaches and the carefree attitude felt like much-needed medicine. I understood why Dante was staying here. I knew why Cassie had escaped here.

  Which made me think. What if her husband had tracked her down? I tried to remember if she’d said he was violent. I seemed to recall that he was only unfaithful. Nothing about being abusive.

  As I walked out, I passed the string of missing persons posters. A new one, printed on smooth white paper, made me freeze in my tracks.

  It showed a man with his arm around a woman on the deck of a sailboat. The woman looked much older. She was exceedingly thin and wore a flimsy wrap over a yellow one-piece bathing suit.

  But it was the man who’d caught my attention. He wore black trunks and a faded T-shirt. Like the woman, he wore dark sunglasses. He also wore a Yankees baseball hat pulled low and had his arm looped around the woman’s neck. She was grinning widely. He was smirking.

  It was Marc.

  My heartbeat pounded in my ears, the only sound I could hear. My face felt icy cold.

  According to the poster, the couple had gone sailing last month, leaving from Cabo San Lucas. They were going to stop at ports along the eastern portion of Baja California and then dock back in Cabo a week later. When they didn’t arrive back, family members from California, who had flown in as a surprise, became worried.

  Their names were Steve and Jessica Carlton.

  The U.S. Coast Guard and Mexican authorities had searched the waters but hadn’t found any sign of them or their boat.

  Despite the clean-shaven face and the sunglasses hiding his eyes, I knew the man in the picture had to be Marc.

  I had so many questions.

  Where was his wife? Where was Cassie? Where was he now?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I ripped the poster off the wall and took off, not looking behind me.

  Back at the campsite, I grabbed Dante by the arm and dragged him into my tent.

  “What the hell?” He seemed annoyed.

  I zipped the tent closed behind us and thrust the poster at him.

  He examined it, frowning.

  Then he looked up. “Okay?”

  “It’s Marc.”

  He made a face but looked back down at the piece of paper in his hands.

  “They look sort of alike.”

  “No. It’s him.”

  Dante exhaled loudly and reached for the tent zipper. I grabbed his wrist.

  “Dante. Where is his wife? Why did he leave town last night so suddenly? Where is your friend, Cassie? You even said she wouldn’t leave her dog this long.”

  That got to him. He chewed on his lip.

  “Say that this is the same guy. Maybe he and his wife had a falling out.”

  “Why would he lie about his name, then?”

  He shook his arm free and unzipped the tent. I had to let him go. I couldn’t exactly tackle him. Well, I could, but it probably wouldn’t convince him to believe me. I stuck my head out the tent. His back was turned.

  “Why would I make this up?”

  He turned back. “Gia, I saw you looking at him last night.”

  “So?”

  “It’s the first time I ever saw a guy choose someone else over you.”

  My mouth dropped open. I scrambled to my feet and chased after him, grabbing his arm again.

  He violently shook my hand away. “Quit. Fucking. Grabbing. Me.”

  “Oh, my God. I’m sorry. That’s wrong. You’re right,” I said, shaking my head. “But Dante, I’m not jealous. I slept with him the other night. He’s a player. And maybe up to something really dangerous. Believe it or not, I’m actually worried about your dingbat friend.”

  “What? You slept with him? When? You’re not worried about Cassie. Jesus, Gia, do you always have to be such a bitch?” His face was red, and he had a disgusted look that felt like a punch to the gut.

  My mouth was wide open. I was speechless.

  I knew then that he wasn’t really mad about that. That was just an excuse. The truth was he still blamed me for Matt’s death. Even if he didn’t want to.

  We stared at each other for a few seconds.

  I put one hand on my hip. “Well, I’m going to figure out what the hell is going on around here, even if you want to stick your head in the sand and pretend that everything is okay. Because it isn’t. Nothing is okay.”

  I stomped off, or tried to. Instead, I trudged through the deep sand in possibly the least graceful moment of my life.

  Dante didn’t believe me. I’d prove it to him by finding Marc myself.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Austin would know where Marc was. They’d talked about meeting in La Paz the following day.

  After standing outside Austin’s tent for a few minutes calling his name, I finally unzipped it. He was passed out, snoring. It was two in the afternoon for chrissakes.

  “Dude!” I prodded him with my foot.

  He looked up, bleary eyed. When he saw it was me, he gave a slow smile.

  “Morning.”

  It took some effort but I tried to answer in a semi-sweet voice. “Hi.”

  He sat up, yawning. “What time is it?”

  “Time for you to get up.”

  He shot me a glance.

  “You’re supposed to go to La Paz today right?” I said.

  “Yeah, but no hurry.”

  “Let’s go now. I want to get the hell out of here.”

  He sat up straighter and opened his eyes wide. “You’re coming?”

  I shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Killer.” He scratched his head and yawned again.

  “I’ll pack.” I started to duck out of the tent. “By the way, you’re driving.”

  He looked confused. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Never mind.”

  I grabbed my duffel bag and headed toward Dante’s tent.

  Nobody was there. I scribbled a note telling him I was leaving. I put the keys to his Jeep and the note on his pillow.

  Over by the parking lot, I saw Austin loading the trunk of a sleek Porsche and waving at me.

  I cast one last glance around for Dante. I’d already looked in the small concrete bathroom and shower area. I examined the heads bobbing in the surf, but couldn’t spot him. Silas’s car was still in the parking lot. They were nowhere to be seen. Not my problem.

  I slogged through the sand and slipped into the passenger seat of Austin’s Porsche.

  “Got a smoke?” I asked.

  “Even better.” Austin grinned. He rummaged in the glove box and came up with a joint. He lit it and handed it to me.

 
I let him put his hand on my bare thigh while he drove. It felt good.

  God knows I wanted to feel good.

  After Dante’s dismissal, I knew that once again I was on the wrong track—looking for love in all the wrong places. Buzzed from the weed, I decided that at that moment, nothing else mattered.

  When we got to La Paz, I’d rescue Dante’s goddamn friend, bring her back to him, and prove I was right. He’d have to be grateful and would feel so bad for doubting me, he’d get over his anger at me once and for all.

  After four hours in the car, I’d started to doubt that and wondered what the hell I was doing. We’d stopped once to buy cigarettes and snacks and bottled water. No, I convinced him to pull over again so we could stretch our legs. Austin slid the Porsche to the edge of the road near a dirt and rock-strewn field of massive cacti. A small shrine was near the road and I wandered over, lighting a cigarette while Austin took a piss.

  The Virgin Mary looked so sweet. She had petal pink roses at her feet. I crouched and their fragrance wafted up to me. I looked around. There wasn’t a house or road in sight. And during our drive, we hadn’t passed any homes for at least ten miles. And yet these roses were fresh and dotted with dew, even though it was close to ninety degrees, baking everything else in sight. Huh.

  My mother had been Catholic, but she’d never forced it on us kids. Looking at the small shrine, for the first time in my life, I felt a wave of regret that I hadn’t learned more about my mother’s faith.

  Bobby had believed in God. He’d mentioned getting married in a church. I’d pretended to be annoyed by the idea, but secretly it sounded really sweet. I think if he’d lived, I would’ve even tried going to church. There was something so peaceful and serene about Bobby. As if he knew something—some secret—that nobody else did, that somehow made everything okay. There in the middle of the dry desert, I think I finally knew what it was. His faith. It was always there, just below the surface.

  None of that mattered now.

  A lone raven landed on top of the shrine and stared at me. A cold chill ran down my back even though I was sweating in the hot sun. It was a bad omen. One raven meant somebody was going to die. It was only a few feet away and it stared at me, its black eyes an endless pit of nothingness.