Murdered in Argentina: A Jack Trout Cozy Mystery

by Dianne Harman

  “Andrew, I’m sure you’re doing everything you can, but you’re going to have to speed it up. Ray Martin is not a stupid man. I’ve been able to cover the transfer so far, but I don’t think my luck will hold out much longer. He’s the only one who understands the numbers well enough to know what’s going on. I can handle everyone else, but I don’t want to spend my honeymoon looking out of a jail cell. You’ve got to convince your friend that it’s critical you get your money back. Actually, if you don’t, both of us might be spending our honeymoon in a jail cell.”

  He sighed and said, “I’ll keep trying, sweetheart, but I have to admit I’m getting discouraged. Maybe we should do what I suggested before and call off our wedding until this is all behind us.”

  “No, I’ll find a way. I don’t know how, but I’ll think about it while I’m down here. We’re going through with the wedding no matter what. I love you, Andrew, and I’m sure years from now we’ll look back and laugh at how important we thought this was. Now, I really need to get some sleep, but I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Love you too,” he said. “Sleep well and catch fish.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “Jack,” Ray said. “I’ve really been busy the last few months. I know you sent me all the information about the lodge where we’ll be staying, but I have to admit I only glanced at it, and it’s rather apparent Lisa hasn’t given it much thought. Give me a verbal walk-through, so I know what to expect.”

  “Sure. It’s a large stone and wood constructed lodge located in the middle of a 10,000-acre cattle ranch. Large windows look out on the Patagonia, and since the lodge was built on a cattle ranch, during the day, gauchos, the South American cowboys, can often be seen riding their horses wearing colorful belted ponchos over loose fitting trousers with their leather whips and knives. Many of the people working on the ranch have followed in the footsteps of their parents and grandparents, being the third generation to do so.

  “It’s considered to be the finest fishing lodge in Patagonia. We’re only a few miles from the charming little town of San Martin de Los Andes. We’ll pass through it on the way to the lodge. Sometimes there are people who come on these trips who don’t fish, almost always wives, so the owner has one of his employees drive those guests into town. It has wonderful restaurants and some great shops where there are many outstanding buying opportunities. Argentina is known for its leather goods.”

  “I’m sure Lisa will like that. She’s never met a bargain she could pass up,” he said sarcastically.

  “Thanks, Ray,” Lisa said. “Kind of like you never met some fishing thing you couldn’t do without.”

  “Now let’s talk about the itinerary,” Jack said. “We’ll fish for the next three days. Although I’ve fished every one of these streams and lakes in the area many times, the Argentinian guides are the ones in charge. They know where the best places are to fish each day, and we’ll follow their lead. Usually we start by fishing the river that runs through the ranch property. Unless they haven’t been hooking any fish there, I imagine that’s where we’ll start tomorrow. After that, it’s pretty much up to the guides. I will say this, I’ve come to this lodge well over a dozen times, and there has never been a trip when the fishing hasn’t been excellent.”

  “That’s music to my ears,” Ray said.

  Jack drove through the town and pointed out the main park, the government building, and many restaurants and shops which lined the streets.

  “Actually,” he said, “the town kind of reminds me of a Colorado ski resort. There are several very high end hotels such as that one, La Cheminèe. We often reserve rooms there for clients when there aren’t enough rooms at the lodge.”

  He turned off the main highway, and about twenty minutes later said, “There’s the lodge up ahead. You can see the lake in front of it. The lodge’s SUVs are here, so that means your guests must have arrived from Buenos Aires. I believe that’s where you told me they were going to spend last night, and then fly over here on the small commuter airline that serves the town.”

  Jack pulled up in front of the lodge and turned off the engine. As they were getting out of the van, several men walked out of the lodge and for a few moments the only sounds were questions asked and responses given. “How was your flight?” “Long.” “This place looks fabulous.” “Did you enjoy Chile?” “Loved it.” “Ready to fish?” and so on.

  Two young men dressed in traditional gaucho clothing took the luggage out of Jack’s SUV. Carola carefully took Cayo’s carrier from the trunk. The four of them followed the men up the stairs to their assigned rooms.

  “Jack,” Carola said as they walked down the hallway, “I don’t remember all of this gaucho gear being displayed on the walls the last time we were here, but I will say it’s both colorful and interesting.”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of like a tribute to the gauchos. Actually, it’s pretty fitting since there are a number of them still working here on the ranch. I would imagine the guests who come here and never have a chance to get out on the ranch like seeing what the gauchos carry and wear. From their ponchos and trousers to their knives and whips, it’s all quite interesting, plus it’s also very colorful, and I think it adds something to this long white hallway which used to be kind of barren and sterile looking.”

  Jack paused in front of a large leather whip hanging from a peg and said, “Gauchos always carry a big whip, similar to what we Americans call a bullwhip, which they use to help them herd their cattle. This whip hanging on the peg is a classic example of the type of whip the gauchos use.”

  When they got to their rooms, Jack turned to Ray and said, “When you’ve had a chance to get acclimated, we can go down by the lake and do a little practice casting. We have about two hours before the cocktail hour and dinner. I can’t wait to see that split bamboo rod and your antique flies.”

  After Jack closed the door to their room, Carola knelt down, opened Cayo’s carrier, and said, “What a sweet boy you are. You were so good on the drive here. I’ll take you any time over that nasty woman, Lisa.” The calico cat seemed to understand what Carola was saying and jumped up on the bed, licking his paws and looking at Carola as if to ask, “Okay, now that we’re here when do I get to eat?”

  Carola laughed while she pulled the pop top off of a can of his cat food and put it in the dish she’d brought with her. Cayo jumped off the bed, circled the food several times, sniffed it, and decided it was fit to eat. A few minutes later he was back on the bed, rubbing his whiskers on the bedspread. Carola swore he was smiling.

  “Cayo, I don’t think whoever’s going to clean this room tomorrow morning would be very happy if she knew you what you were doing on the bed.” He cocked his head while she spoke and resumed his cleaning ritual.

  “Jack, do you think I can leave Cayo loose in our room or should I put him in his carrier when neither one of us is here with him?”

  “We’ve had him for several months now and never had a problem with him getting into trouble or destroying anything. I think he’ll be fine. About ready to go downstairs?”

  “Give me five more minutes. I’d like to finish unpacking, and then I’ll be ready.”

  A half hour later Ray walked out on the porch where Jack and Carola were sitting, quietly holding hands and looking out at the lake. In one hand Ray held a long leather tube which had been custom-made for his Winston fly rod and in his other hand they could see a very old box which held his flies. “This is what I’ve got, Jack. Hope it’s good enough to catch some trout.”

  “Let’s go down to the lake. I see some of your guests are already practicing their casting. Rather imagine they don’t want the boss to show them up completely, and if you’ve never used this rod and reel, you probably need to get a feel for it,” Jack said laughing.

  “Ray, is Lisa coming out soon?” Carola asked.

  “I have no idea. When I left her in the room, she was hooked up to the Internet and on Facebook. I swear, she spends so much time on Facebook I some
times wonder if she has a boyfriend on there.”

  “Let me see that rod,” Jack said, looking intently at the rod case in Ray’s hand.

  Ray took the two pieces of the 4 weight fly rod out of its leather rod case and snapped them together, being careful to make sure that all of the ferrules were lined up in a straight line.

  “Ray, you told me about the rod and the flies. What kind of a reel do you have that you’re going to use with it? Is it from your father as well?” Jack asked.

  “Yup. Forgot to tell you about the reel. My dad got it from Ike as well. It was given to the president by a member of England’s House of Lords. It’s a Hardy Perfect, obviously from England. The date stamp on it indicates it was manufactured in 1895. That’s only four years after the first reel was manufactured by Hardy.”

  “I feel like I’m in a fly fishing museum,” Jack said. “These are things I’ve only read about. I can’t believe I’m going to be fishing with someone who will be using them.”

  “If you play your cards right and make sure I catch some trout, there’s a good chance I’ll let you try them out,” Ray said winking.

  Jack grinned. “I think I’ve died and gone to fly fishing heaven. I’ll definitely want a photograph of the rod and reel for my newsletter.”

  “Consider it done.”

  They walked down to the lake and spent the next hour and a half casting while Jack gave Ray a few instructional tips. Neither one of them noticed the sidelong looks the other guests gave them or the faces at the windows, both upstairs and downstairs, that were watching as Ray effortlessly made longer and longer casts with the beautiful and oh-so-graceful antique fly rod.

  CHAPTER 7

  Pablo Varela and Mateo Diaz joined the other two fly fishing guides in Pilar’s warm kitchen located in the lodge. Over the years it had become a tradition for the guides to eat dinner together in Pilar’s kitchen the night before the guests went fishing for the first time. They shared what they knew about the guests and decided which ones would fish with which guides and on which rivers.

  On his walk over to the kitchen from the fish shed Pablo wished this dinner wasn’t a tradition, because he would have preferred to be home with his wife, Catalina, but he needed to keep this job, now more than ever. He thought back to the conversation he’d had only an hour earlier with Catalina. Just thinking about it made his heart ache. He’d been in the small shed where the fishing gear was kept, making sure everything was ready for the guests in the morning. His cell phone had rung, and he saw Catalina’s name on the screen.

  “Mi amor, what did the doctor say?” he remembered asking. Catalina had found a lump on her breast the day before, and Pablo had insisted she go to the clinic in San Martin. One of the ranch staff was going into town to get supplies and Pablo had been able to get a ride for her to San Martin. They didn’t have the money to buy a car, so they relied on the ranch staff whenever they needed to go into town, which wasn’t very often. He and Catalina had gotten married when they were in their late teens and ten years and four children later, it was all they could do to scrape together the money to feed and clothe them. He knew he was holding his breath, but he couldn’t help it. He waited for her to answer. It took her a long time to say anything, and then he realized it was because she was softly crying.

  “Catalina, what is it? What did the doctor say? Are you all right?” he asked again with obvious concern, his left hand holding the phone to his ear, his right hand nervously rubbing his thigh.

  “Pablo,” she said in a tearful voice, “the doctor felt the lump and then took an x-ray of it. He said it looked like the type of lumps women have when they suffer from breast cancer. He said he was almost certain I have breast cancer.”

  “That was it?” Pablo asked incredulously. “Doesn’t a biopsy need to be performed to find out for sure? Why didn’t he do that?” Pablo asked frantically. “Surely there’s something more he can do.”

  “No, Pablo, he doesn’t have the necessary equipment. He said I would have to travel to a large town where that type of advanced medical treatment is available.”

  “If we can get you to a town that can do a biopsy, and if you do have breast cancer, then what?”

  “He couldn’t tell me. He said I needed to see a specialist who would know what to do. He said the type of cancer treatment I’d need would cost as much as 700,000 Argentine pesos. That’s nearly $50,000 in U.S. dollars. That’s more money than we make in five years. Pablo, I am so sorry to be such a burden to you.”

  Pablo felt as if his heart was being ripped to pieces. He’d fallen in love with Catalina when they were in school. As soon as they’d graduated from high school they’d gotten married. She was the reason he got up in the morning, the reason he worked so hard rowing boats for fishermen, and the reason he wanted to return to their small home every night. She was his reason for living.

  “Catalina, I have to stay here at the lodge and have dinner with the other guides, but I’ll be home after that. God works in mysterious ways. We must trust that our God will help us. Our religion has helped us in the past. It can help us now. I know it. You must believe it.”

  “Yes, Pablo, I do, but what if I die? You can’t raise four children by yourself. What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know, but I won’t let you die. I promise you that. Somehow, we’ll find a way to get the medical help you need. Please believe me when I say that. Adios, mi amor.”

  “Adios,” Catalina said sobbing.

  Pablo sat for a long time lost in thought, his brain frantically searching for a way he could keep his promise to Catalina and save her life. He shook his head to clear it, looked at his watch, and realized it was time to join the other guides in the lodge’s kitchen.

  When he walked into the kitchen he was greeted warmly by Pilar. “Several of your clients are practicing their fly fishing down by the lake. You might want to watch them and see how much you’ll have to teach them,” she said laughing as she led him over to the window. “Dinner is almost ready. Pour yourself a glass of wine and relax for a moment.”

  I won’t relax until I find a way help Catalina, he thought. He poured himself a glass of wine and looked out the window. He knew Jack Trout from the many times he’d previously brought guests to the lodge. Jack was standing next to a man who was using a rod and reel that Pablo had never seen before, and after all the years of being a guide, he thought he’d seen every kind of rod and reel that had ever been manufactured. He turned to Mateo and said, “What kind of rod and reel is the man standing next to Jack Trout using? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I haven’t either,” Mateo said, “but I walked over to Jack and that man a little while ago and asked. Figured I better know something about them, since he’d be fishing with me one of the days while he’s here. Jack said the man had an antique split bamboo Winston rod and a Hardy reel that had been owned by a United States president. He said the man also had a box of flies that dated from the early 1900’s. I told Jack I’d never seen anything like them. Jack told me I never would again, because they’re so rare and valuable. He laughingly said if Ray, that’s the name of the man standing next to Jack, sold them, he could probably use the money to buy some of the shops in San Martin, that’s how valuable they are.”

  “Thanks,” Pablo said continuing to look out the window. He thought how unfair life was sometimes. Here was a man who had fishing equipment that was worth a fortune. A thought came to him. If I could get my hands on that equipment I could sell it and pay for whatever medical treatment Catalina needs. He stood at the window for several more minutes, seemingly lost in thought, and then he joined the others as they sat down at the kitchen table for dinner.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Come on out and join me,” Carola said to Lisa who was standing inside the lodge watching Ray and Jack practice casting while using Ray’s antique fly rod and reel.

  “Might as well,” Lisa said. “Doesn’t look like there’s anything else to do around here. Do
they have any wine tasting rooms here in Argentina, you know, like they have in Napa, California?”

  “I don’t know of any. Why, do you like to do wine tastings?”

  “Ray and I have been to most of the important wine producing regions in the United States. We’ve even been to some in France, Italy, and Spain. I know it sounds cheap, but I like to go where the tastings are still reasonable. I can easily afford it, but Napa and some of those places have gotten a little out of line with their sky high prices. A couple of weeks ago I met a friend in Walla, Walla, Washington, and we went wine tasting. We hired a driver and went to places like the Gramercy and the Long Shadows tasting rooms. Actually, Long Shadows even had a room called the Dale Chihuly room. You know, he’s the famous artist from Seattle who creates a lot of organic-looking blown glass art objects.”

  “No, I’m not familiar with him,” Carola said.

  “I should have realized you wouldn’t be. I’m sure Chileans have never heard of him, and anyway, you don’t strike me as being a woman who’s well-versed in the art world.”

  “Actually, I know quite a bit about South American art,” Carola said, her soft brown eyes becoming hard as she realized she had just been insulted, “but a blown glass artist named Chihuly, no, I’m not familiar with the name.”

  The client is always right, Carola. The client is always right, she thought.

  “Well, I hope we get some good wine here. I did like the carmenere wine we had while we were in Chile. It was delicious.”

  “I’m glad you like the wine of my country, but don’t expect quite as much quality from the wines here in Argentina. Argentina is known for its beer and beef, but its wine not so much, however I do think you’ll enjoy the food.”