Malice in Mexico

by Gayle Wigglesworth

  Suddenly chills ran down her spine. She knew!

  “Reynald,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “Reynald, tell me you’re not taking that job to assassinate the Israeli.”

  He straightened up and looked at her, saying carefully, “I am not taking the job to assassinate the Israeli Prime Minister.” Then he turned back to the task of closing up his pack.

  “Are you crazy?” she shrieked. “It’s a death assignment. You said so yourself.”

  He ignored her.

  She forced herself to take deep breaths. She had to calm herself if she was going to convince him this assignment was madness.

  “Reynald, no amount of money is worth your life. You said it was a suicide mission. You said, ‘let the Iranians do it with their suicide bombers’. Do you remember?”

  He wasn’t responding.

  “You said it was impossible. You said it couldn’t be done.”

  “Calm yourself, Kathleen. There is no reason for everyone in camp to become a part of this discussion.” His eyes were snapping with anger, he was bristly with pride.

  She loved him so much she wanted to weep, but she was terribly frightened. She could see he had made up his mind and wouldn’t change it.

  She tried again, this time keeping her voice low. “Reynald, my love, don’t do this. Why would you want to take this risk?”

  “I have a plan. When I said it was a suicide mission it was, but now I have a way to do it.”

  “So tell me,” she cajoled. “Tell me how it can be done. Let me be a part of it.”

  “No! It is best no one knows. It should be enough for you to know I have a plan and the plan will work. I am the best at what I do. If it can be done, I am the person to do it. And now I know how it will happen. Soon I will make it happen. Later, when I am back, I will laugh with you at how ridiculously easy it was. But until then you will have to trust me to do my work as I see fit.”

  “Where will you go? Israel?”

  “No, he will be in Buenos Aires for a summit conference. I will do it there.”

  “Reynald, don’t you want to talk it out; go over the details one more time?” Now she really was whining, but she was scared witless.

  Finally, desperate, “If you loved me you wouldn’t close me out. We’re a team. You said we were a team. Why don’t you let me work with you on this?”

  He was angry now. He grabbed his duffle. “Shut up, Kathleen. If I needed you I would use you. If I wanted you, I wouldn’t hesitate to take you with me. You are superfluous in this case. I warn you to stay out of it or you might jeopardize this whole mission.” And he stormed out of the hut without even kissing her good-bye.

  * * *

  Kathleen sat there in the dark feeling sick to her stomach. Even after such a long time, the loss of Reynald was almost unbearable. She didn’t know why he felt he had to take that job, but suspected it had a lot to do with his ego. Somehow the people who hired him presented it in a way he got sucked into proving how good he was. But, of course, he wasn’t.

  It was a long while before she could accept he wasn’t coming back. Then it was months before she could buy enough information to piece together what happened. The Israeli’s were brutal. Their security was probably the best in the world. There was no word of the attempt in the media, but the assassination was stopped and Reynald destroyed before he even got close. It was a suicide mission.

  All Kathleen had left was the realization that Reynald never loved her as she loved him. He didn’t really consider her as a partner. He didn’t really, as he said, need her. And that knowledge was a blow which almost destroyed her.

  Unlike her constant examination of the incident that took her family, she didn’t like to remember that time with Reynald. It pained her too much. There were too many questions she still had about their relationship, and truthfully, she suspected she had been a fool about him. She had acted no differently than a giddy young girl infatuated with a rock star.

  She tried to analyze her attraction to him. He was of medium height, slender, even though his naked body revealed tight muscles. He was dark, dark eyes, dark hair and toffee colored skin. Even now she felt a shiver run down her spine thinking about him. It was his attitude, she thought. That quiet competence that somehow conveyed itself to others. People immediately respected him, suspecting hidden depths that they were afraid to explore. She knew of course, having worked with him, that he was a vicious and efficient killer who, if he had boundaries, never revealed them.

  That is why Jack resembled him. Not in looks, although Jack was about the same height, slender but muscular; no it was that air about him. You knew when you met Jack that he was good at whatever it was he did, and you immediately knew not to test him.

  And what was there about his insipid friend, Claire? Why did she deserve the devotion of a man like him?

  And to think her uncle was afraid of Claire. Well, she admitted, not really afraid, rather he was spooked by her.

  Her train of thought ended abruptly when she saw her targets emerging from the dimly lit entrance to the restaurant. She started the old truck she had appropriated, praying its motor would catch. When it did, she eased into gear, releasing the clutch while she gave it gas. Now she forgot all about her reminisces; now she was concentrating on her targets, barely visible in the shadows on the sidewalk as they approached the corner. She was on the street now, shifting into second and picking up speed.

  They were on the sidewalk just past the pool of light on the side of the theater. She could see them in front of her, the street was still empty. She increased her speed, shifted into third and jammed the accelerator to the floor. With a surge of triumph she jumped the curb, steering right into them.

  The crash almost jerked the steering wheel out of her hands; she fought it for a moment, the truck careening dangerously off the curb before spinning out of control back into the street. The truck stalled, she looked around wildly. Where were they? She frantically pushed the starter again. It was taking too long. She tried the starter again, and when the motor caught she shifted into first and tore down the street, looking in the rearview mirror for some sign of her victims.

  * * *

  Claire struggled to catch her breath and slowly crawled to her knees. “Jack? Jack are you hurt?” She put out her hand to touch his shoulder.

  He groaned.

  “Oh, my God, did that truck hit you?” They were deep in the shadows now and it was so dark she couldn’t see his face even though her own face was down next to his.

  “No, I don’t think so. No, I know it didn’t hit me, but I hit something when I pushed us out of the way. It felt like a stone wall.” Now he was beginning to sound like Jack. “Hold on to me, I’m going to stand up.”

  Leaning against each other they managed to stand and look around.

  “My God, that driver must have been drunk. He didn’t even stop.” Claire shuddered. “If you hadn’t jumped out of the way we’d be spread out there on the sidewalk.”

  Jack was running his hand gingerly over his ribs.

  “Oh my gosh, you didn’t open your wound again, did you?” she asked, alarmed.

  “No, I think I’m fine, but obviously I’m not quite healed. I felt that tumble. I wouldn’t want to do it again.”

  “Can you walk?” Claire was really concerned. She put her arm around him. “Let’s go back to the restaurant and sit a moment. Then we’ll call a taxi to take us home.”

  “I can walk, Claire. Don’t get all concerned.”

  “Of course I’m getting all concerned. You may be able to walk, but why should you? You’re still convalescing, Jack. Use common sense and pamper yourself a little. Remember what Dr. MacIntyre told you about pushing yourself too fast.”

  Jack stiffened as if he was going to argue, then changed his mind. “I guess I could use an aspirin or another drink.” They slowly made their way back to the restaurant.

  “Hey you two, I thought you left a bit ago,” Steve Carter said jovially, waving them over.r />
  He and Kaye and Jeff were still sitting at the tables they had shoved together to accommodate the crowd they had been. Jeff was eating a huge sandwich and Kaye was picking at a platter of nachos.

  “We did, but we changed our minds.” Claire watched Jack seat himself carefully, concern plain on her face.

  “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” At Steve’s words both Kaye and Jeff scrutinized Jack.

  Jack shook his head.

  Claire nodded hers. “We had a bit of a run in with a drunk and his truck...” Claire started to explain.

  Jack cut in, “I’m not sure it was just a drunk, Claire.”

  She looked at him shocked. “What then? Drugs?”

  He shook his head. “I think someone tried to run us down.”

  The gasps and protests came from around the table. Finally Steve said, “In San Miguel? I don’t think so.”

  Jack shrugged carefully. “Claire, let’s have a drink, that will help put things in perspective.”

  Kaye waved the cocktail waitress over and they all ordered drinks.

  “Okay, Jack, tell us what happened.” Steve was acting like he was the commanding officer.

  So Jack told them about deciding to walk home via Hernandez Macias. “It’s the most direct way to the Pruitts’ from here. We weren’t in a hurry, just strolling along, but I heard this truck coming up the street and I could tell by the sound of the motor it was going way too fast. I turned around to check and saw it coming straight for us. I didn’t have time to warn Claire. I just grabbed her and leaped out of the way. Unfortunately, there was a stone wall where I landed.” He grimaced. “Anyway,” he looked at Claire, “I caught a glimpse of the driver just before the truck jumped the curb, when a reflection from the streetlight hit the windshield. I was so shocked it was a wonder I moved fast enough.” He looked at Claire. “I swear the driver looked just like Kathleen. You know the woman we met at Teddy’s party. The one we bumped into at the Bellas Artes on Saturday.”

  There was shocked silence all around the table. Then Claire said, “Jack, that can’t be right. Why would Kathleen try to run us over?”

  “You must be mistaken, Jack.” Kaye agreed with certainty. “We’ve known Kathleen for several years now. She’s not a drunk.”

  “I’m usually pretty good at recognizing people. I really have no reason to make it up.” Then, he shrugged. “But it all happened very fast, so I guess I could have been mistaken.”

  “What kind of truck was it, Jack?” Steve asked.

  “It was a Dodge pickup. Big, medium color of some sort, perhaps blue and it was pretty beat up. More so now, because I think it hit a corner of the same wall we fell against. Anyway it looked as if it had a lot of miles on it; I would think it was at least ten years old. It didn’t stay around long enough for me to get any more.”

  “It couldn’t have been Kathleen. She doesn’t have a truck, does she?” Kaye asked.

  Jeff shook his head. “I’ve never seen her drive one. Besides, why would Kathleen even be near here? It seems if she was in the neighborhood she would have joined us. She’s always up for a party.”

  The waitress interrupted their discussion with their drinks, and they stopped long enough to taste them. They all sat there quietly for a few moments, thinking.

  “Well there is something very strange going on. I don’t have a clue about what it is. But last Friday we hired Raphael to give us a tour of the area. He took us to Delores Hidalgo, then a pottery, then to Guanajuato. His car went off the road on the way back to San Miguel and he was killed. We weren’t, because you, Kaye, saw us and invited us to join you at the Mondot sisters’ concert. Then on Sunday, while we were on the Home Tour someone broke into the Pruitts’ house, beat our housekeeper and trashed the house. And, by the way, they stole every thing we bought while we were here in San Miguel.”

  He took a sip of his glass of Scotch, letting it slide down his throat. Everyone waited, waiting expectantly to hear more.

  “Today, the Pruitts’ agent replaced the small appliances, we went to Raphael’s funeral, and then we hired a car to take us back to the pottery to replace the pieces we had bought. Later after dinner here with you folks, someone, we don’t know who, tried to run us down in a truck.” He looked around, eyeing each person for a moment before saying, “I don’t think this was all coincidental. But I don’t have a clue as to what it all means. Do any of you have any ideas?”

  “Why did you go back to the pottery?” Kaye asked.

  “Oh, they had such beautiful things,” Claire told her enthusiastically. “Very colorful, it’s very much like good Italian pottery. My mother will just love it. I bought her some to use in her catering business, but it was all in Raphael’s car. Well, all but the frog, that was in my tote bag. Anyway, it was stolen with everything else during the break in. So I wanted to go back, to replace the pieces, you see?” She looked at Kaye, looking for a sign she understood.

  “And we were able to replace everything, but the frog.” She turned and looked at Jeff. “I bought one of those little black frog princes, a copy of one of your sculptures. I wanted it for a gift for my friend’s garden. I had slipped it into my tote, and so it wasn’t destroyed in the wreck, but it’s still gone. And they didn’t have any more. The lady in the shop didn’t even recognize it. She thought it was probably part of a special order.” Now she leaned forward eagerly, fixing Jeff with an earnest gaze. “I was hoping you would sell me one of your proto-types. My friend has the most beautiful garden and it would be perfect sitting in a corner somewhere. What do you think?”

  “You bought a copy of one of my frogs?” Jeff said slowly trying to process what Claire was saying.

  “Yes, it was very nice. Not as nice as one of your originals, of course. It was only a copy, probably turned out from a mold. Still it had the same expression and shape. And it was black, just like the ones you made.”

  “And you got it at the pottery you visited with Raphael?” Jeff asked, shaking his head in confusion.

  Claire nodded. “Yes, it wasn’t in the showroom. I found it in the back waiting to be packed and I just couldn’t resist it.”

  “But how would a pottery get a copy of my frogs. I haven’t shown them to anyone.” He frowned from the effort of thinking about it.

  “Is it important?” Kaye asked innocently.

  “Hell yes, it’s important. I don’t like thinking someone is ripping off my work. And I especially don’t like to think that someone has access to my work to rip it off.” Jeff’s expression could only be described as thunderous.

  Claire sat back wishing she hadn’t asked about the frog.

  “Well, who does have access?” Steve asked calmly.

  Jeff shook his head again. “Not Teddy. He never comes in the studio. In fact, I usually keep it locked so even the gardeners or Tia don’t go in there.” He frowned from the effort of thinking about who was in his studio.

  “Kathleen. Kathleen was in the studio a few months ago when she was down visiting her uncle and came over for dinner.” He thought a moment. “I suppose she could have taken one. I don’t count them, you know. I just make a new one when I get the urge. I’m trying to make the perfect one, but I haven’t quite got it yet.” He nodded his head, but then a puzzled expression crossed his face. “But what in the world would Kathleen want with one of my frogs? And how would it get to that pottery?”

  “Well, it wasn’t just one of your frogs. There were dozens of copies when I found it. They were all in the packing area. I just picked one up and took it to the front. I thought you arranged for them to reproduce it.”

  Jeff’s mouth fell open with shock.

  “Well, I think I can answer your question about how it got to the pottery,” Steve said. “Graves told me he had invested in that pottery. He is working to establish an export distribution channel to sell their products in the U.S. He thinks it will be a money maker and certainly a boon for the little town supporting the pottery.”

  “But, what does
Graves have to do with Kathleen? Am I missing something here?” Jack asked, confused.

  “Graves is Kathleen’s uncle. You know him. He’s the bald-headed guy. He’s been coming down here for several years, and just recently decided to move down here fulltime. His niece has been down several times. I don’t know where she lives, but I’m pretty sure she works with Graves in his businesses.” Kaye was full of information.

  “So,” Jack said slowly, “the pottery which made the frog, which was stolen from us, is connected to Graves. Kathleen is connected by family to Graves and the probable source of the frog from Jeff’s studio. This is very interesting. And it reminds me that the man who shooed us out of the pottery today said they had secrets. Now I’m wondering what secrets?” You could see Jack had forgotten about his aches and pains. Either the alcohol was doing its work, or all his thinking had distracted him.

  “We didn’t see anything secret, but,” Claire said slowly, thinking, “that room behind the locked door could be hiding secrets. Do you think it had anything to do with the frogs?”

  “I don’t care what secrets they have, I don’t want them copying my frogs and selling them all over the world,” Jeff growled with feeling. “I have a mind to go out there on a search and destroy mission.”

  “Now, Jeff, don’t get all in an uproar. Maybe there is a perfectly good explanation for this whole thing.” Kaye tried to soothe him.

  “Well, give it a try. Explain it,” her husband said, daring her to come up with an acceptable explanation.

  She shook her head with confusion. “I don’t know, but of course there is a reason.”

  Jeff stared glumly at his empty glass and raised his arm to signal the waitress they needed another round.

  “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to go out there and look around,” Steve offered.

  “I don’t think that will work. They were just giving us a brief tour and you should have seen how mad this guy got. Jack said he really reamed the woman for taking us back there. I don’t think they would let us in to look around, do you, Jack?”