The Timid Traitor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 10)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "What were they looking for?"

  "The movie, I think."

  "Where is it?"

  "In my valise."

  "Have you seen what's on it?"

  "Nope. I don't wanna watch a stag movie even if it does show Joan Crawford in the buff."

  "What if that isn't what it is?"

  I shrugged. "What else could it be?"

  "Who knows? Seems like it would be a good idea to find out."

  I said, "Fine. When we get to the hotel—" I stopped.

  "What?"

  "The hotel. I never called Marge." As I was laughing, I heard a knock on the door. "Come in."

  Christine walked in with a tray. There were two glasses and a bottle of something in an ice bucket. "Here you go, gentlemen. Do you need anything else?"

  I stood up. "Is there anything like a ship-to-shore phone on this airplane?"

  "There certainly is. Mr. Hughes insisted on it."

  Christine was still holding the tray. I lifted the bottle out of the bucket and took a long swig. After burping, I handed it to Carter and said, "I have to make a call."

  He grinned and took a long swig himself. "I'll go sit with our guests then."

  I laughed. "You be host. I wonder if there's even a hotel there anymore."

  . . .

  "Hotel Riviera del Pacifico. May I help you?"

  The voice, even with all the static, sounded familiar.

  "Marge?"

  "Yes. Who's speaking?"

  "This is Nick Williams. Sorry for the noise. I'm on an air-to-ground line."

  "Nick! What a surprise! How are you?"

  "Fine, for the most part. I need some rooms tonight. And some for the indefinite future."

  "Come on down. Business is slow."

  "Has Maldonado made any moves to grab the hotel from you?" Braulio Maldonado Sández was the Governor of Baja California, the state where Ensenada was located. I'd had a run-in with him and his little band of thugs called Los Pistoleros when we'd been down there in '53. He'd told me he was planning on expropriating the hotel from Marge who, along with her Mexican husband, Alfonso Rocha, owned the hotel. She'd married Alfonso to become a Mexican citizen as a business matter and they'd ended up falling in love.

  "He's made a couple of attempts but he's had his hands full lately, so we're fine for the time being. How many rooms?"

  "Five for tonight. And then three ongoing."

  "Well, I can put the three out where you were last time. In the cabanas overlooking the ocean."

  "How about two of those and then one room somewhere nice but private?" I didn't think Annie would want to stay out on Queer Row. That was the name we'd given those particular rooms the last time we'd been there.

  "I have a really nice suite that's on the second floor with a marvelous view."

  "Perfect."

  "When should we expect you?"

  "Hold on."

  I was standing behind the pilot and co-pilot. I tapped Captain Morris on the shoulder. "When do we land?"

  "About 6."

  I relayed that to Marge and then handed the headset back to Captain Obregon who disconnected the call.

  "You want us to fly back in the morning?" asked Captain Morris.

  "Yeah. I don't know how long we'll be here. The Flirtatious Captain"—that was the name of our yacht—"is heading down the coast. Depending on the weather, we might take that back once the coast is clear."

  "Anything I need to know about?"

  "No. If anyone asks, just tell the truth."

  "Will do, Mr. Williams."

  Chapter 16

  Hotel Riviera del Pacifico

  Ensenada, Mex.

  Wednesday, January 19, 1955

  Just past 8 in the evening

  We had dinner that night in a private dining room. Marge and Alfonso joined the four of us along with the captains and Christine.

  The menu was similar to what we'd had the last time we'd been in that room. We started with a large glass full of shellfish soaking in lime juice. For the main course, Carter and our co-pilot had a piece of steak. The rest of us had grilled fish brought in by local fishermen and accompanied by rice and more of that tasty green goop. We finished with a kind of custard. And, throughout the meal, there was dark beer for Carter, Sam, and the two captains. The rest of us had the tequila drink named for Marge called a margarita.

  For the first part of the meal, Alfonso got us caught up on the local gossip. The state police captain who'd replaced Nacho back in '53 turned out to be a crony of Governor Maldonado. As Alfonso put it, their "miscellaneous" expenses were going through the roof. That was his euphemism for bribes.

  I asked about Nacho's wife, the lovely and elegant Rosa. Marge looked over at me and said, "I asked her to join us. I wasn't sure if she would." She had a sip of her drink. "She politely declined but asked if we all wanted to come by after dinner for a little get-together."

  I laughed. "We didn't bring black tie."

  Marge smiled. "It won't be a party this time. She was clear about that."

  . . .

  The captains and Christine decided to make an early night of it instead of going with us out to the Esparza place where Rosa lived. Captain Morris said he wanted to be up and out by about 8 the next morning. Carter and I said we'd meet them for breakfast at 7 in the main dining room.

  Alfonso drove their big Mercedes limousine with Marge up front next to him. Sam, Annie, Carter, and I sat in the back. As we drove through town, it didn't look like much had changed since we'd last been there.

  Sam asked, "Where are we going?"

  Carter answered. "Rosa is the widow of our friend Captain Ignacio Esparza. We call him Nacho. You've probably heard us talk about him."

  Sam nodded thoughtfully. He looked out the window.

  Annie asked, "How did you meet this captain?"

  I replied, "We came down here in '53 to help out a friend. While we were here, a movie star by the name of Taylor Wells was murdered. Nacho came to investigate. A few days later, he was killed by his brother on our yacht."

  "It wasn't our yacht, yet," added Carter. "It belonged to some French guy and Nick bought it from him." He looked over at me. "What was his name?"

  It took me a moment to remember. "Deladier." I was pretty sure I mangled the pronunciation.

  Both Sam and Annie looked at me. She asked, "Not Pierre Deladier?"

  I nodded. "Right. He owns a vineyard in Bordeaux."

  Sam sighed. "Nick, you sure do get around."

  "How so?" I asked.

  Annie replied, "He was a Vichy spy who worked for the Germans in Mexico. You said you bought his yacht?"

  I nodded. "Sure. Why?"

  She shrugged in a French sort of way. "Besides smuggling—"

  Carter said, "Yeah. We found out about that right after we bought it."

  I added, "It involved Carter and me running around the ship naked."

  Sam snickered while Annie smiled wanly.

  "This yacht was rumored to have carried German spies into the U.S."

  "Where'd you hear that?" I asked.

  She shrugged again. "The French expatriate community in San Francisco is very tight-knit." She looked at Sam. "Is that the word?"

  He nodded.

  She continued, "One hears many things."

  I looked at her directly. "Why didn't they know about your past?"

  Sam said, "They know. They just don't care."

  I nodded.

  . . .

  As the car began to climb the winding road to where the Esparza house was located, it started to drizzle. As Alfonso drove through the gates and made his way around the drive to the front of the house, I saw a new Sunbeam sports car sitting next to the venerable Duesenberg that had first driven us to the house. Behind that sat a long, white Lincoln that looked like it had just rolled off the line in Dearborn.

  We walked across the terracotta tiles of the front porch under a wrought-iron lamp that was suspended by four thick chains. Marge was t
he leader of our group. Before she could reach the door, it opened. The bright light of the entry hall spilled out onto the landing in front of the door. Standing there in the halo of that light, decked out in a beautiful black dress, was Rosalinda Esparza. She looked just as radiant as the last time I'd seen her, if not more so.

  "Marge, my dear, how are you?" The two embraced for a moment.

  "And, Alfonso. As handsome as ever." He rated a kiss on the cheek.

  She stood back. "Please. Come in out of the rain."

  We all walked into the house. Rosalinda walked up to Carter and said, "Is it possible that you are even taller than when last we met?"

  Carter grinned and leaned over so she could kiss him on both cheeks.

  "And, dear Nick. How are you?"

  She kissed me twice as well.

  "Happy to see you, Rosa. You look as beautiful as ever."

  She smiled at me and winked. "And who are your friends?"

  I stepped back. "May I introduce Anne-Marie..." I faltered.

  She stepped forward and smiled. "Boudier. I think Nick is afraid of our French words. How do you do, Mrs. Esparza?"

  A slight grimace passed over her lips at Annie's use of that name. "Please, call me Rosa."

  "And you must call me Annie."

  This time Annie kissed Rosa on the cheek, three times. Rosa said something in French to Annie and they both laughed.

  I looked over at Sam. "And this is one of our colleagues, Sam Halversen."

  Rosalinda glanced over at me. "Where do you find all these handsome men, Nick?"

  Sam grinned and spoke in French. Rosalinda gave him a kiss on both cheeks and replied. After a moment, Annie added something and all three began to laugh.

  Rosalinda turned to me. "Thank you for bringing your guests. I rarely am able to speak in French these days. Not at home, at least. It's so delightful. Particularly with actual Parisians."

  Annie wagged her finger. "Do not be fooled by Sam's accent. He is from Czechoslovakia even though, when I first met him, I thought I knew which arrondissement he grew up in."

  Rosalinda drew back. "A man of many talents, then?"

  I laughed. "More than would be polite to discuss."

  Sam turned red while everyone laughed. Carter leaned over and whispered, "Cut out the high-hat stuff, Boss."

  . . .

  "What about your charming friends, Ben and Carlo?" asked Rosa.

  We were all comfortably seated in the big room that looked out at the front courtyard. I took a sip from my beer and said, "They're both living in L.A. now. Ben is starting up a movie production company. Carlo is working for us. We're opening a new office there."

  Marge piped up. "We see them every couple of months, don't we, Alfonso?"

  He nodded. He appeared to be bored senseless, and I couldn't blame him. It was getting late and we needed to get back to the hotel.

  Marge added, "They usually come with their friends, James and Roger. Don't they also work in movie production?"

  Before I could answer, Rosa stood up. We men did as well. "Will the rest of you pardon me? There is something I need to show Nick."

  I nodded and straightened the cuffs of my coat.

  After a moment, she added, "Will you join us, Carter?"

  He replied, "Sure."

  She walked over to the door that I knew led to Nacho's library. I followed her down the hall, with Carter bringing up the rear, as the memories of the last time I'd been there began to flood over me.

  Once we were in the library, I looked around. The card table was just where it had been the last time. Carter, Mike, and a young Mexican kid had been playing poker with Nacho when I'd walked in and broken up the party. The box of clay poker chips was still on the table where it had been that night. I could smell the faded aroma of cigar smoke. Looking around, I could see that the bar was still in place with two bottles. One was white and contained tequila, or so I assumed. The other liquid was amber and contained brandy. I'd had a small glass from the very same bottle the last time I'd been in the room.

  Rosa turned and said, "I am so very happy to see you both. More than I can say." She smiled. "I am wondering if you will do me a favor?"

  Carter and I both nodded. He said, "Anything."

  "It's nothing terribly significant but, since my husband died, there are a few things of his that I have given away to friends. I still have a few that I've not found the right person for." Walking over to a desk, she picked up a cherrywood box and handed it to me. "These are the last of Nacho's Cuban cigars. I would like for you to have them."

  I smiled and took the box. I opened it and discovered that it was stuffed full of cigars. There was also a folded-over piece of white paper laying on top.

  Rosa reached over and gently pushed the lid down. "I don't want to delay your return to the hotel."

  I put the box under my arm. "Thank you, Rosa."

  She smiled. "Will you both have a small brandy in Nacho's memory?"

  We both nodded. Carter said, "Let me do the honors."

  While he poured, I wondered what might be on that note. There would be time to look at it later, but I was intensely curious.

  Carter handed Rosa a small glass. She took it and said, "Thank you, Carter."

  He nodded and handed me the other one. We stood there a moment. Rosa looked over at me and nodded.

  I lifted my glass, "To Nacho, a true friend." I was thinking about the last hour before he was murdered. I'd found him sleeping on the sofa in the lounge on the yacht. He had looked so vulnerable at that moment even though he was fully dressed in his uniform and boots.

  Carter raised his glass, "To Nacho." He looked down at me. "I wish you were still here even if that meant having to slug you to keep your hands off Nick."

  Rosa and I both laughed.

  She raised her glass. "To Nacho. Thank you for being a wonderful partner."

  We all drained our glasses. As we were putting them down, I asked, "How are your friends from Vassar?"

  She smiled. It wasn't a happy one. "Bryn Mawr."

  "Sorry."

  She waved me away. "It is nothing. And they are all gone." She reached over and lightly touched the box under my arm and nodded.

  . . .

  Once we were in our old cabana, I put the box of cigars on the table in the front sitting room.

  I took off my coat while Carter relieved himself in the bathroom. I sighed. It had been one hell of a day. I had no idea what the next one would bring or how long we would be in Mexico or whether we needed to be there at all. I was beginning to think that maybe I had panicked. But then I remembered how Kenneth hadn't tried to dissuade me from leaving, so maybe it had been a good idea after all.

  I was pulling off my tie when Carter reached around my chest and pulled me in close. He leaned down and gently bit the top of my right ear as he liked to do. He whispered, "I love you, Nick."

  I nodded. "I love you, too, Carter."

  "Seeing Rosa reminded me of all that's changed since we were here."

  "I know."

  He kissed the back of my neck. "I want to go home tomorrow."

  I turned around and looked up at my husband for a long moment. He kissed me gently on the lips. I kissed him back and we stood like that for a while. "Me, too."

  . . .

  After a long session of moving around the rooms in various states of undress, we finally collapsed on the bed in our BVDs.

  I had no idea what time it was when I suddenly remembered the note in the cigar box. I sat up in the dark and made my way into the sitting room. I turned on the lamp next to the sofa and opened the box. Pulling out the note, I read it and then read it again. I couldn't figure out if it was a joke or if it was real.

  Carter mumbled from the bed, "What?"

  "Rosa needs our help."

  Carter sat up. "What help?"

  I walked into the bedroom and handed him the note. He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp.

  My dearest Nick,

 
; I write you this in the hope that you will be able to help me.

  Since Nacho's death, Braulio Maldonado has begun forcing his attentions on me. He has taken title to the hacienda illegally and is threatening to force me out if I do not marry him. Nacho had already begun to slowly move most of his family's money to Switzerland before he died. I have finished this task. I want to leave Mexico and go to Europe. However, he has stolen my passport. If I can get to France or Italy, I have friends who will make new papers for me.

  I know this may be too much to ask of you, but is there any way in which you can help?

  Yours,

  Rosa

  Carter sighed and handed the note back to me. He got up, kissed me as he walked by, and began to pull on his clothes.

  "What?"

  He looked up. "Get a move on, Boss. We have a damsel in distress to rescue."

  . . .

  We woke up Marge and explained what was going on.

  She nodded as I told her. "I knew something was up when we saw Maldonado's car at the house."

  "The white Lincoln?"

  "If it's there, you're going to have to sneak in."

  "Do you know how we could do that?"

  She thought for a moment. "No. But I know someone who does."

  . . .

  We sat on one of the big sofas under the wooden ceiling of the lobby and waited for Marge to wake up whoever was going to help us. The big clock on the wall said it was half past 4. I looked up at the ceiling and remembered how Mike had commented on it last time and that it had reminded him of Hearst Castle in San Simeon. I wondered if he might know who did the work in our house. I made a mental note to ask him the next time we saw him, which I was hoping would be later that day.

  As we waited, Carter asked, "Should we get the captain up and tell him to get ready to leave at dawn?"

  I looked at him. "Where are we going?"

  He smiled. "France, from what I can tell. We have two passengers at last count."

  I sighed. "Damn, you're right. You stay here and I'll go talk to him."

  . . .

  The captain shook his head. "Are you sure about this, Mr. Williams?"