Traveling Bug

by Curry, Edna

  Becoming aware that the people walking on the patio around the hotel pool below her could see her in her slip, she retreated back out of sight. She stretched out on the bed and was instantly asleep.

  A sharp knock on her door awoke her. Groggily she opened it, and was surprised to find Jeff there, looking as lively as she was tired.

  He raised an eyebrow at her as she stared sleepily at him. "May I come in?"

  "Of course," she assented stepping back to allow him entrance.

  "Were you asleep?" he questioned, sounding as if it were impossible.

  "Yes." Her voice was defiant. Let him dare deny her a bit of rest after that long trip.

  "Sorry." He sounded contrite at her tone. "I forget that you're not used to all this. But it will come easier after a while. If we could just go over the welcome speech for dinner, we can discuss any last minute changes in the orientation speech for tomorrow morning later. Okay?"

  "Sure." She sat down on the wicker chair by the little table in front of the glass doors leading to her little balcony. Abruptly the roughness of the wicker against her leg through the thin slip woke her to the fact of her state of undress. "Let me just put these back on," she stammered, grabbing her skirt and blouse and dashing into the bathroom to dress, trying to ignore his smile.

  He had helped himself to a can of pop from her tiny refrigerator and stood ready with a glass filled with ice cubes for her when she came out.

  "Lemon-lime or cola?" he asked. "They even have ice in the ice bucket. Either the service is great here, or they told the maids which rooms the travel agency people were in. I hope it's the former."

  "So do I," she shuddered, "I don't look forward to a week of settling complaints if it isn't. Lemon-lime, please."

  They went over the speeches they had prepared weeks ago in their offices, making the necessary changes as Lola had advised them of the details of arrangements since their arrival.

  Then Jeff brought up the subject she had been dreading.

  "I see you did slip up on one name spelling," he said, indicating that it was all her fault, as she had known he would. Whatever had happened to the loving Jeff she had kissed so thoroughly on New Year's Eve? This man was a stranger, upset over the littlest thing.

  "Yes, I saw that," she agreed, holding her temper. "I called Sally at the office, and she checked the files and original list from Banning Corporation. It was correct there. I don't know how that happened, but I'm sure it was a one-time typo."

  "You called home just for that?" his voice was incredulous. "Do you know how much it costs to call home from here?"

  "I called from Phoenix," she said tightly. "And I paid for the call myself."

  He looked at her, his face like a thundercloud. Just then the phone rang and she was saved the rest of his lecture.

  A stream of rapid Spanish met her ears as she answered.

  Lola was downstairs at the desk, trying to deal with several people at once whose luggage had not yet arrived, though their neighbors' had in the rooms around them. She promised to come right down to help, and was relieved to end their argument by informing Jeff they had a new problem.

  "You handle that, and I'll finish getting these speeches, ready," he said, picking up the papers on the table in front of him and getting up to leave.

  She nodded, feeling as though she had been granted a reprieve from his anger. He obviously didn't want to believe her, anyway. She might as well have saved her breath as well as her hard earned money on the phone call.

  She should have known, she scolded herself on the way downstairs. Why couldn't she have kept her vow not to get involved? She had insisted that she wasn't interested in a man to everyone, then she had fallen head over heels in love. And with a man who made no secret of the fact that he thought her incompetent, and who was giving all his attention to another woman, besides. How dumb can I get?

  She spent a half hour soothing the group members at the desk, convincing them that their luggage was probably just not sorted and delivered yet, but she would check it out and took down their room numbers to call them as soon as she had.

  Then she found the employees responsible for bringing and distributing the luggage, and found to her dismay that they were sure they had gotten every piece with the group's special purple identifying tags on it. Her confidence that this problem would be quickly sorted out faded.

  But it would have to wait for now. She must play the hostess for the next couple of hours, then she would take a taxi to the airport and see for herself.

  She went back to her room to dress for the evening's gala welcoming party. And as she walked down the hall to her room, it dawned on her that her own luggage had also not yet arrived. It should have been sitting in the hallway outside her door, but wasn't.

  In a moment of panic, she realized how the others felt.

  Whatever would she wear for the next week if it was really lost? At least it was cooling down a bit now, so the suit she had left home in this morning wouldn't be too uncomfortable. Thank goodness she always carried her toiletries in her hand luggage, so she had those.

  She stood at her window and looked down at the lively scene on the patio around the pool. Tables had been set up and already people were gathering around the bar, standing in little groups, most of the women wearing designer dresses. She sighed, looking ruefully down at her own travel worn suit. It was all she had, except the swimsuit she had packed in her carry-on case. Not much to spend a whole week with, if the airline had indeed misrouted her luggage. She fervently hoped her assurances to the others would come true.

  She showered and freshened up as best she could, then went down to brave the others at the cocktail party.

  Jeff's eyebrow went up questioningly as she approached him at the bar. Arlene was standing beside him, in a beautiful blue creation which had obviously cost a fortune. For an instant, Diane wondered how she could afford to dress like that on a secretary's salary, then she remembered what Vince had told her on the plane. Arlene's father was a major stockholder in the company. So she probably had family money, and didn't have to depend on just her own salary as most girls did.

  Diane tried to ignore the disdainful, superior smile on Arlene's face now as she smiled ruefully at Jeff.

  "I'm afraid my own bags were among the missing. We'll have to track them down as soon as we can get through here."

  Jeff nodded, "I'll get you a drink. What will you have? Another Pina Colada?"

  "Do they have Tequila Sunrises?"

  "I'll see."

  "Oh, Miss Foerman!" A frantic voice behind her cried.

  Diane turned to greet Mrs. Christensen, noting with a groan that she was also wearing what she'd worn on the plane.

  "Oh, dear, not you, too? How awful for you, especially after we misspelled your name tags, too."

  "You know about the luggage, then? Have you heard anything?"

  "No, but as you can see, my own is also among the missing. We're going out to the airport to check on them right after dinner."

  "But what if they put them on the wrong plane? You saw all those little carts being pulled around at the airport. They could easily have mixed it up. Oh, dear, it would cost a fortune to replace everything I brought with me."

  "I always tell you that you bring far too much," her husband put in, coming up behind her. "Now perhaps you'll listen to me."

  "Please don't get upset, Mrs. Christensen. Even if they were placed on the wrong plane, which I doubt, they would merely reroute them back here on the next plane. Remember, they have several flights here every day. It's not as if we were at some out of the way place, you know."

  "Do you really think so?" her lined face still carried a worried frown, but she looked eager to be reassured.

  "I'm sure of it," Jeff put in, returning with the tall rose colored drinks, evidently having decided to try one himself.

  "I'm so sorry about the name-tag mix-up," Jeff said, obviously trying to change the subject, but Diane cringed at the renewal of that subje
ct.

  But to her surprise, Mrs. Christensen just laughed. "Don't think anything of it," she said unconcernedly. "We're used to it by now. It's a common name and is always being misspelled. It's not important, really."

  "It most certainly is important," Vince declared, from behind Diane. He had obviously been there long enough to know what they were talking about and he wasn't pleased. "Give me those name tags, and I'll have new ones made up immediately."

  "Oh, that isn't necessary."

  "Please! I insist. Jeff will take care of it right away."

  Diane was surprised at the meaningful glance she saw Vince send Jeff as Vince personally reached out to unpin their tags and pass them to Jeff.

  Jeff was frowning thoughtfully. He slipped the name tags in his pocket, then glanced at Diane, saying, "I think I owe you an apology, Diane."

  Diane smiled gratefully, not sure what it all meant, but glad he was no longer angry with her. But what had changed his mind?

  Just then dinner was announced and she moved off with the rest to get in line at the buffet tables.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Jeff disappear into the hotel. What had gotten into them to over-react that way? Over a typo?

  Gas lights set among the palm trees glowed in the gathering darkness. A warm breeze stirred the long palm fronds, sending waving shadows across the patio. A local band just inside the hotel played dance music.

  Everyone lined up at the buffet tables and helped themselves. The tables were set up over a long bed of live coals to keep the food hot, and were laden with a great variety of foods. Some of them were familiar to Diane, others weren't. The main course was barbecued beef, and there was a good variety of vegetables, including the inevitable refried beans.

  Diane saw with relief that Jeff had returned and was seated at another table with Vince, though she felt an unreasonable pang of jealousy at seeing Arlene sitting beside him, their heads close together as they talked.

  She smiled and talked through dinner, doing her best to sort out the various people and associate their names which were already familiar to her since she had typed them over and over, with the faces, which were new to her.

  Her eyes kept straying to Jeff, and she wished she had seen where he was sitting in time to have had her back to him. She found herself resenting Arlene, sitting there laughing with Jeff. She should have been so happy. It was such a lovely night, and it was so beautiful eating out here on the patio under the stars. The palm trees waved in the light breeze, and there were bougainvillea and tulip trees and a half dozen other kinds of flowering shrubs which she couldn't name blooming around them, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. It was obvious that no expense had been spared when they did the landscaping for this hotel.

  The white coated waiters poured the last round of coffee and retired. Diane noted that all the waiters were men. Even in the restaurants here, she remembered, men waited on tables. She assumed that it was because waiting tables was a higher paid and more desirable job than clerking in the shops or cleaning rooms. Once again, she thought bitterly, men got first choice. Male chauvinism was alive and well in Mexico as well as at Special Tours.

  Jeff got up and went through his welcome speech. He told everyone to meet for breakfast right here on the patio for the first morning so they could have a short orientation meeting. The first bus tour of the city would leave at ten in the morning for those who wished to go on it. He reminded them that a schedule of all the available tours and side trips was in the envelope they had been given on their arrival in case anyone had missed it. Diane knew that people notoriously failed to read the information they were given.

  She repeated some of what Jeff had said for Mrs. Jacobs, who was having trouble hearing him over the sounds of the music and the surf. At last the people began to leave their tables and scatter, some to walk on the beach, some to the lounge and bar off the lobby where there was music and dancing and others to go to their rooms.

  Diane saw Jeff standing under a palm tree, talking earnestly to Arlene. She sighed and turned and went up the steps into the main lobby of the hotel to find Pedro. Let Jeff enjoy the beach with his precious Arlene. Diane would try to find their lost luggage.

  Pedro was waiting behind the counter as he'd promised, and in a few minutes they were in a cab on the way back to the airport.

  But the airport was nearly deserted. She found it eerie, in fact. Most of the offices stood with doors wide open, yet there was no one about to question about the luggage. Apparently the people just went home, and left them open.

  In the end, Pedro agreed that they could do nothing but return in the morning.

  Chapter 9

  When Diane and Pedro arrived back at the hotel, the music was still playing, and the dancers were still there, although the noise level was several drinks louder than when they had left. She thanked Pedro and went to her room, exhausted.

  If her luggage didn't appear in the morning, she'd have to go shopping. At least, she did have her international credit card. She could buy the basics, but it would ruin her budget for months. Mentally she tried to add up the cost of her modest wardrobe. To her the total seemed staggering.

  Her loss might be small compared to Mrs. Christensen's, she thought, but as a percentage of her income, it was probably much greater.

  She turned her key in her door and stepped inside, surprised to find that the light was on. She frowned, sure that she had turned it off. Then she jumped and let out a scream as she saw the feet of a man lying stretched out on her bed, half-hidden by the jutting wall of her bathroom.

  She marched in angrily, grabbed his leg and gave it a shake, then saw with relief that it was Jeff. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and frowned at her.

  "What are you doing here? And how did you get in?" she asked, her voice shaky with a mixture of fright, anger, and then relief.

  Shaking off sleep, Jeff swung gracefully to his feet and took her trembling body in his arms, stroking her hair.

  "Whoa, there. Don't get mad. The maid felt sorry for me cooling my heels in the hallway, and let me in. I told her I was your husband and you had the only key. Since she knows they refuse to give out two keys here, she believed me."

  His body was cozily warm from sleep, and she welcomed the delicious sliver of electricity which sailed straight to her center.

  Diane pushed him away, and stepped back. His clever conning of the maid reminded her that he was probably only conning her, too. Hadn't she seen him stroll down the beach with an arm around Arlene only an hour ago? Where was her pride?

  "My husband. What an idea. And what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were busy with Arlene?"

  His eyes narrowed at that and she thought he even looked pleased. "Jealous?"

  "Of course not! What's it to me whom you take for a walk on the beach?"

  "Where did you disappear to so fast? I thought we were supposed to check on lost luggage?"

  She stared at him. "I did. Or at least," she amended, "I tried to. I just got back from the airport."

  "What?" Jeff sputtered. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

  "You told me to handle the luggage problem."

  "I did no such thing," he snapped.

  "Jeff! You were standing right where you are now. I distinctly heard you. 'You take care of the luggage problem and I'll check these speeches,'" she quoted.

  "Exactly," he agreed. "Before dinner. That did not mean I wouldn't help you with it after dinner."

  "I didn't think it was necessary for all of us to go. I took Pedro."

  "So how did I know that? I don't want you running around alone again, do you hear? Especially at night."

  "Yes, sir!" she snapped back.

  His eyes narrowed at her answer, but he seemed satisfied. "Did you have any luck finding the luggage?"

  She shook her head, sitting down in the wicker chair by the window. The lighted patio and grounds below were almost deserted, now, though there were a few couples still strolling on the beach. She l
onged to be one of them, free to just enjoy the lovely night and relax to the sound of the surf. But she still had to do the unpleasant task of telephoning the people whose luggage was missing to tell them that she hadn't found it for them.

  Jeff opened her small refrigerator and handed her a cool drink. Her hand tingled with electricity when his touched it. Why was it that they always seemed to be fighting, yet she was so attracted to him?

  She smiled at him and sipped the drink gratefully.

  "Feeling better?" he asked.

  "Yes," she nodded.

  "Then about the name tags," he began.

  Diane groaned and opened her mouth to protest the reopening of that subject, but he held up his hand to silence her. "Give me yours."

  She just stared at him, wondering if he'd gone mad.

  He sighed, reached over and unpinned it from her jacket, then turned it over, examining it carefully as she watched in amazement.

  "Yours is okay," he said, handing it back to her.

  Then he took pity on her, and explained, "Dad guessed that the name tags had been switched. Thank goodness that they spelled the name wrong, or we might not have found out."

  "But why would they do that?"

  "To plant a bug, of course."

  "A bug!"

  Jeff nodded. "It's the ideal thing to bug, since our group is wearing the name tags all the time. So it has to be someone who knew we would using the name tags in lieu of tickets for meals and cocktail parties to identify us to the hotel staff."

  "So I didn't make a mistake, someone made new tags?"

  "Yes. As far as we can tell, the switching had to have been done in Arlene's office, after she received the tags from you to hand out. As we said before, our culprit has to be an insider at the Milwaukee office, and is probably here on this trip."

  Diane gasped in dismay. "So what do we do now, make new name tags?"

  "No, and I can't go around checking everyone's name tag, without tipping off the guilty person. So we'll just have to be aware that someone may always be listening, and go along as usual, hoping he'll tip his hand in some way."