Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (21 page)

“
There’s
no reason in the world why not,” Clint agreed and hugged him. “It
doesn’t appeal to me, but I don’t think I’d find it unpleasant. As
you say, why shouldn’t you offer your friends a little
pleasure?

“
I’m not
offering anything. I DO still have those taboos.”

Roberto laughed and put some water on the
wood stove for coffee that he raised just a little down the
mountain. It was part of the living he made. He also had cacao, so
put a few beans in the coffee grounds. It was delicious. He also
made an omelet with the eggs from the chickens all around the place
(a rooster has awakened them) and the vegetables that grew
everywhere. They spent the day roaming around the mountain seeing
things Clint had never seen and stopping to talk with the few other
people they saw. They were frankly curious about Clint and asked
what he did. They thought detectives were like on the TV and that
Clint had a very glamorous and exciting dangerous life.

The night was much like the one before. Clint
didn’t wonder and would have probably gone along with almost
anything, but it didn’t come up. In the morning Clint wondered
about it. What if...?

He couldn’t honestly say. The idea wasn’t
repulsive to him like to some. He was close friends with several
gay whites and knew the Indios thought nothing of it.

Why was he even considering it? Because he
was so used to having a woman sleeping with him and there were none
here?

Stupid! It had been only three nights and the
wondering started the second. He was more and more preoccupied with
sex, but that also seemed the norm here. He’d lost a lot of his
inhibitions and his ideas had changed radically. He would never
have paraded around nude in the states like he did almost every
morning in Bocas.

One thing was certain about the last couple
of nights that may have had something to do with how he was
feeling: the Indios have no body hair and their skin is like satin.
He’d noticed that with a couple of Indio girlfriends. The men’s
skin was as soft and smooth. He thought a lot about what was and
what had been important in his life before he came here. A hell of
a lot had changed there. He had been average-greedy in the states,
but wasn’t the least greedy here. All those “things” he chased
after were too stupid and silly to even think about here.
Particularly here.

He had busted his ass for money, had cut
moral and ethical corners for it – for what? Money was as much as
useless in the mountains. These people would automatically share
everything they had. They weren’t after a bunch of things that were
“better” than their neighbors’ property. They didn’t even think
about ownership in that sense. Land was “owned” to the extent that
it was considered yours if you farmed and maintained it. They
shared most things. They didn’t get into the “keep up with the
Jones’ concept until they were in the cities and never really
understood anything except that’s what the gringos do.

Clint didn’t want to ever go back to the rat
race of the states, to the greeds and emptiness of the lifestyles
there.

He had awakened a few minutes before Roberto.
When Roberto woke up and said, “Co da coin metare!” he laid there
and held him for a few minutes just for the closeness and warmth.
They got up and had another great breakfast, then headed down the
mountain. Clint would go back to Bocas and Roberto would stay out
here for a few days, then go to David where Clint met him for what
few supplies he needed.

There was a small ache inside when Clint got
on the bus. He came very close to getting off again and going to
live with Roberto on the mountain. He had no doubt he would be
welcomed.

What if he did? He had reverted to his
primitive self there and liked what he actually was. Roberto would
have a woman there tonight, no doubt. If Clint went back he would
have to get his own women.

People stared when he cried, “Thank you, God
that I don’t believe in, for making this perfect paradise for these
perfect people!”

He actually felt exactly that. This was
paradise and these people belonged here. He could only hope he
would fit half as well. The real values in life were here, not in
some condo in Florida. THAT was the self-delusion.

Well, it fit a certain type. A type he didn’t
want to ever be among again.

When he got back to Bocas the paradise and
perfect people stayed on the mountain. What he found was the very
people he hoped he’d left behind in the states. They were staying
in a leased fancy house on Isla Carenaro.

Well, one wasn’t. Anymore. She was dead. She
wasn’t staying anywhere with or without the phony values.

*Translated from Spanish – CD

“
Sheila
Forbes, nineteen, from Bentonville, Ohio, been here six days with
this group,” Ernesto reported. Ernesto was with the Bocas Police
and a good friend of Clint’s. “There are twelve people in all here.
There is a maid and cook who comes during the day except Sunday.
Maria. Samy Lorenzo is yard man twice a week and runs their boat
for them. The bay craft. The yacht has its own crew. All of the
crew are in Colón while the yacht is cleaned and refitted or
whatever. Been there three days.

“
It’s a
mixed crowd. Sheila was a guest and wasn’t wealthy while her host
is Kathi Crossman, heiress and multi-millionairess. Kathi’s husband
is Mark Crossman of the Crossman-Devereaux Development Corporation
in Orlando, Florida, Houston, Texas, and Bentonville, Ohio.
Mid-thirties. They live about a third of their time in each of
those places.

“
Emile
Devereaux and his wife, Florence, mid-thirties, are from
Versailles, France, and are living in Orlando now. His brother is
Liam Devereaux, eighteen. His girlfriend is Verity Knowles,
nineteen, from Modesta, California. Another case of a poor girl
with wealthy sponsors.

“
Martha
Sommers and Gilda Bonarte are from Houston and are, I think,
lovers. They’re mid-twenties.

“
Hamilton
Williams, twenty two, is from Tampa, Florida. Mid-wealthy. What you
call comfortable.

“
Bernard
Fowler, twenty six, is from Atlanta, Georgia. Girlfriend is Rita
Prentis, twenty, from same.

“
She was
both poisoned and stabbed for some reason. Either would have been
fatal. All we know is that there is some kind of trouble with the
business. The older ones want to make a bunch of cheap houses here.
The brother, Liam, is dead-set against it as are Martha Sommers and
Gilda Bonarte. Hamilton is for making a fast buck any way you can
as are Verity Knowles and Bernard Fowler. Rita Prentis is an
airhead who doesn’t even consider anything except who can buy her
the best presents.

“
Clint, I
do NOT like these people and would do all I can to keep them out if
I didn’t know from long sad experience that those of the same kind
here will chew them up and spit them out. I’d bet they’ll go home
within four months much less wealthy than they are now.”

“
What was
the victim’s reaction to the cheap tract house idea?” Clint
asked.

“
That, I
don’t know.”

Clint nodded, thanked him and went toward the
fancy little swimming pool patio where the various people were
hanging around with various drinks. Samy was acting as bartender.
Clint rolled his eyes at him and he hid a smirk.

“
Greetings all, I’m Clint Faraday, working with the police
on the murder here,” he announced. “Please don’t play stupid games
with me. I don’t have the time for it. We’ll try to get this over
with as quickly as we can.”

“
Who in
hell put you in charge?” an older (for that group) man asked
acidly. “I’ll give you a boot out of my house if you pull that
tough-guy act with me! Got it?”

“
I think
you’d be smart to understand where you are,” Clint said sweetly.
“Your money doesn’t mean shit here – particularly with me. I am NOT
impressed with some self-important egomaniacal asshole. Got
it?”

“
You! The
copper there! Toss this bum out of my house! Now!” he
ordered.

“
It’s not
your house, it’s rented,” Clint replied. “Two more words from you
and you’ll learn a bit about the law here. This ain’t
Florida.”

“
I gave
you an order!” he snarled to the policeman, Sergio Generoso, close
friend of Clint’s. Sergio spoke English.

“
Who in
hell put you in charge?” Sergio asked. “Mr. Faraday represents the
criminal investigation department here when requested. It was
requested. HE gives me orders. NOT you!”

“
I’ll
have your badge!” the man yelled.

“
Now,
Mark! These types have their job. It will go easier if you will
simply cooperate, distasteful as that may be.”

“
When
hell freezes over!” Mark almost screamed. “Do you ... people ...
know who I am?!”

“
You’re
an ugly American jerk,” a dark younger man said. “Isn’t it bad
enough that Sheel’s dead? Do you have to always be such a
pusillanimous bastard?”

“
You shut
the hell up, Liam!” Mark yelled. “God! How did I ever get into this
mess? You people get out of here. I can investigate a lot better
than you, anyway. Back in Houston they’ve learned to listen to me.
Back in Florida too! Cops have a little intelligence
there.”

“
I see.
They cater to the idiot rich guy because he can buy off the crooked
politicians and cops,” Clint said. “This is Panamá, in case you
haven’t noticed. It isn’t Florida or Houston.

“
I’ll
want to know where each of you were since noon yesterday and who
with.”

“
Maybe
somebody else will answer to you, but I won’t!” Mark
snarled.

“
This is
Panamá and you’re considered guilty until proven innocent here,”
Clint continued as though he hadn’t heard that last. “Sergio,
arrest Mr. Crossman and take him to holding and processing. I’ll
get there as soon as I finish here if it’s today or tomorrow
morning if I’m not through by, say, five.

“
Anyone
else got an act like this one? You can join him. You WILL join him
if there’s anymore crap out of you.”

“
I’ll be
out in ten minutes! What’s the bail?” Mark said a bit shakily if as
loud.

“
There’s
no bail until the corregidor sets it and he’s in Changuinola today
and tomorrow so you will NOT be out in any ten minutes,” Sergio
told him. “With your attitude you’ll be lucky to be out in ten
days. I’d like to see you pull this act with a judge! Ten YEARS at
least!”

“
I demand
to see the American consulate!” Mark yelled, now VERY
shakily.

“
You can
call him when the corregidor sets terms,” Sergio confided. “Maybe
one of these will call them for you, but they can’t interfere in a
murder investigation.” He pulled out his handcuffs and snapped them
on one wrist of Mark, who was uncertain of whether to take a swing
at him. He did refuse to offer the other hand so Sergio took out
his billy club and said to put his wrist out, conscious or
unconscious. It was the same to him. He slowly offered the other
wrist as Ernesto came in to ask what all the shouting was
about.

*Translated from Spanish – CD

“
This one
thinks he’s important,” Sergio explained. “Typical bigshot gringo.
Clint took all he could of him. Now he goes in for processing and
interrogation. Intensive.”

“
Oh.
Okay,” Ernesto replied. “Just him?”

“
So far,”
Sergio answered. Ernesto waved a hand and went back out.

The others mostly seemed amused by this act.
Liam laughed and said he would be glad to translate the Spanish to
the others who didn’t speak it.

“
Liam, we
speak English. If they want any information from us it will be
proffered in English or it won’t be answered,” Kathi sniffed. “It
is insufferable to treat Mark that way! He’s under the greatest
pressure running the companies the rest of you seem to be so
determined to bankrupt! I never!”

“
You want
to join your husband?” Clint asked. “Do NOT pull this act with me
or you WILL sit in a cell until the corregidor gets back at the
earliest. You’d better understand that!

“
Now!
I’ll want to know....”

“
Act?
What act?” she demanded. “I will not be treated in this
manner!”

“
One more
word and you join your husband!” Clint warned. She glared and shut
up.

“
You’ll
have most of us in the pen shortly,” Liam said. “They don’t know
how to act in any situation where they can’t control every little
thing.

“
I was
with a girl called Angela at noon yesterday. We had a snack at the
Golden Grill, then went to Drago until about six, then went to The
Reef for dinner, then to the Barco Hundido for awhile, then to her
place for an hour or so, then I came home about two thirty or so to
find the police here.

“
I don’t
know Angela’s last name. She lives about two blocks this way from
the Golden Grill and maybe a block north. I can take you
there.”

“
Thanks,”
Clint said. “We’ll check it out and you’re probably home free.
Nobody would be stupid enough to lie about something so easy to
check.”

“
I’m
Gilda Bonarte and she’s Martha Sommers. We were together all
afternoon and came back at six, dressed, and went to the Lemon
Grass for Thai food. We came home about eleven and found her in the
foyer.”