Death Runs in the Family (24 page)

“I would have liked to try again with Kelli, if only…but she’s gone now and…” He made another dramatic pause. “Life goes on.”

Gee, I wish I’d said that. But it fit right in with the ridiculous kind of conversation we were having. I didn’t reply but turned away and picked up my bag. Without looking at him, I said, “While we’re on the subject of my family, I would appreciate it if you didn’t use Richard’s name again if you go in hiding. Or anyone else’s in the family.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight. I promise to never do that again, especially now I’m on my way to becoming a PI. That’s not going to bother you, is it?” His voice had an anxious quality to it, as if my answer was important to him. “I’ll be based here in Las Vegas. I don’t see myself ever leaving and going back to the Bay Area. ”

“Just do right by Flint. He’s a good man. Besides, you mess with him, he might squash you like a bug.”

“Don’t worry.” He gave me a little kid grin then sobered. “This is a second chance. I’m not going to blow it.”

He rose and walked toward me. Opening the door of the small room, I stepped into the corridor. I turned back and extended my hand.

“Goodbye, Nick. Maybe I’ll see you around, maybe I won’t. Either way, have a good life.”

He took my hand with a smile, glancing down at it and then up into my face. “The same to you, Lee. Thanks for saving my ass. Maybe I can do the same for you sometime. It’s such a lovely one.”

* * * *

Richard answered on the fifth ring, as I walked to the rental car in the parking lot of the hospital. A sudden desert wind came up from nowhere and blew the matching neck scarf from my three-piece tailored outfit into my face and over my eyes, transforming the colors of the blah parking lot into vivid hues of turquoise, teal, and purple. I pushed the recalcitrant scarf back down on my neck and answered my phone.

“Hi, Richard, you got the info I need?” I said, pressing the fob to unlock the car door. I thought fleetingly of how I would never take one of these things for granted again. I slid into the car on smooth, mock leather car seats, while listening to Richard’s chastising voice drone on.

“I got it, Lee, but I don’t like it. Not any of it. This is dangerous. You shouldn’t be going there by yourself. Actually, this is insanity.”

“Since when did insanity ever stop me?” I let out a giggle, which floated through the silent air and popped like a soap bubble. Seeing levity was the wrong tactic, I cleared my throat and became serious. “This is the only way, Richard. Gurn is back in Washington, and Flint is laid up. Time is of the essence.” I inwardly groaned. Why didn’t I add, ‘it’s always darkest before the dawn’ while I was at it?

“What’s the matter with you?” he said, his voice incredulous. “Are you on something? Whatever it is, don’t give me any. And what makes you think she’s alive? And in Rio de Janeiro? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“She’s alive. And why not Rio de Janeiro? Where would you go if you had fifty-million dollars?”

“Well, it sure as hell wouldn’t be there. Maybe Paris,” he added with a grumble.

“Richard, what was the ringtone on the cellphone the police found in the backseat of her car?”

The question brought him up short. “Should I know that?”

“It was in the police report. They are very thorough, the Vegas police. She also sang it the day she showed up to my place and took the cats, but nobody would know that but me.”

I started the car, a red Ford Fiesta, and hummed a few bars of “The Girl from Ipanema” as I backed out of the parking space. I heard Richard’s heavy breathing, then movement, and the steady click of his computer mouse. I could picture him, sitting at his desk, ripping through papers, and clicking madly, looking for the answer, which he would eventually find, our Richard. No doubt about it.

“I just gave it to you. ‘The Girl from Ipanema,’ Richard, so stop your search. I’m heading for the airport now. You got me the ticket?” I stuck the Bluetooth in my ear, transferred the call over to it, and pulled out into traffic.

“You have a flight to L.A. in about two hours. Air Rio leaves from LAX tonight at eight p.m. and gets you into Rio at seven a.m., just like you asked. We don’t even know for sure it’s her. The manifest said an eleven-year old girl traveling with her father.”

“It’s her, Richard.”

“Lila’s going to have a cow if D.I. has to pay for a first class ticket to Rio de Janeiro for nothing. Fifty-four hundred dollars!”

“It’s Kelli.”

“All the more reason to go with backup. Or hand it over to the Brazilian police. They’re capable of handling this.”

“I’ve got to do this, myself, Richard. I’m the one she snookered. I’m bringing her back.”

“Ah, gee, you and your macho tendencies, Lee,” Richard whined, quite unlike him. “They get you in trouble each and every time.”

“I’ve got an idea. Let’s do a compromise. Remember the two men who came to see Dad about ten years ago for help on starting their own agency in Rio?”

“Wait a minute, let me think.”

“Gustavo and Heitor Janardo. One had a beard, like Fidel Castro,” I said, hoping to trigger his memory. “The other played with a yoyo.”

“Sure,” he drawled, as the recollection came back to him. “The younger one, Heitor, gave me one of his yoyos and taught me how to do around the world with it. I thought they were out of the business.”

“They are, but they’re working as bodyguards for one of the wealthier hotel owners in Rio. I’ll call them; see if they can help me. Remember, this is not just for me. It’s for Stephen. I know what she’s capable of better than anyone. I don’t want her to get away again.”

“All right,” he relented, emitting a long, drawn out sigh. “If you call the Janardo brothers for backup, I’m with you.”

I heard some papers rustle in the background again, a sound like a ‘thunk,’ and then a few more clicks of the computer mouse. “Here’s what I’ve got. I don’t think she could be at one of the major hotels on Ipanema. I’ve done some checking, and believe me, it wasn’t easy.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true. But, anyway, I’ve managed to trace every female under forty-years old who arrived about a week ago back to their city of departure. None of them were from Las Vegas.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, there’s two twelve hour days, right there.”

“I don’t think she’d stay at a major hotel, anyway,” I said. “She might get noticed.”

“Now you tell me.”

“Check out small hostelries, ones that are directly on the beach.”

“Now you tell me.”

“You’re the best brother a girl could have.” I ended the sentence by smacking kisses into the phone.

“Oh, please. Spare me.” Large, dramatic sigh followed by heavy resignation. “When do you want them?”

“I’ll call you in the morning for the info. Mum’s the word, Richard.”

“What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

There was a quick intake of breath, signaling Richard’s current status. We had moved from resignation to alarm.

“You haven’t told Mom or Tío where you’re going?”

“Not yet.”

“What about Gurn? Does he know?”

“No, this is just between you and me.”

“Where does everyone think you are?”

“Gurn thinks I’m returning home from a day visit to Flint for some R and R while he’s gone. That’s why I offered to take Baba again for him. It’s nice he still trusts me with her.”

“Excuse me?” Strangled laughter ensued here. I waited until he quieted down.

“And Mom and Tío think I’ve gone off with Gurn to D.C. See? That’s how I got Tío to take care of Baba, Tugger, and Lady Gee.”

“So they don’t know you might not be back in time for Stephen’s funeral, which is day after tomorrow? If you’re not here, Mom will kill you.”

“I’ll try my best to be there.”

“You don’t think this is going to explode in your face?”

“Absolutely. Big time explosion. But it should be over by then. This is something I have to do, and by myself, Brother Mine.”

“Man, when you go wiggy, you don’t mess around, Sister Mine.”

Chapter Twenty

In Pursuit of the Missing

The flight to Rio was just as I’d hoped, soothing and peaceful. I rarely fly first class, and usually only at Lila’s insistence. In this case, I knew I had to get a good night’s sleep for the day ahead of me. In first class, the backs of cushy, leather seats went nearly all the way down to form a bed, narrow but doable. A fluffy pillow, soft blanket, eyeshade, comfy slippers, and a strong martini—bruise that sucker, and don’t spare the olives—and I was out like a light.

I awoke to a soaring bird’s take on Rio de Janeiro, a major, tropical city basking on the edge of a continent. The aerial view of the enormous statue of
Cristo Redentor
, or Christ the Redeemer, perched atop the Corcovado Mountain, is truly breathtaking. Throw in world famous Sugar Loaf Mountain directly opposite, and you know why this view is one of the seven natural wonders of the world.

While the plane taxied to the gate, I turned on my phone. Five messages awaited me, one from Richard, another from Gurn, and three from Lila, not a good sign.

I listened to Mom’s edicts first to get them out of the way. All began with, ‘Liana, this is your mother speaking’ and segued into variations of the “get-your-butt-home-and-now” theme. I assumed my Big Mouth Brother spilled the beans. Boy, was I going to let him have it.

To keep it clear, Lila Hamilton Alvarez does not use words like butt; it’s me giving an overview. My mother doesn’t even use the word derriere, unless she is speaking to the seamstress about the refitting of one of her designer gowns. She contends you have no secrets from your doctor or your seamstress. But at no other time do ladies discuss body parts.

I deleted her messages, because my butt wasn’t going anywhere until I did what I came to do. I tend to discuss body parts.

I moved on to Gurn’s message. This darling, sweet man called to let me know a dozen red roses would be awaiting me on the doorstep when I arrived home from Vegas. That was the day before, of course, and I could only hope Tío had found them and put them in water.

Then I phoned my turncoat brother and let him have it as soon as he answered. When he could get a word in edgewise, he threw it back at me.

“Listen, you ninny. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to. Flowers arrived yesterday morning from Gurn, saying how much he missed you. Tío figured out right away you were up to no good. You know, he’s not a stupid man.”

“I never said he was,” I interjected, feeling I was losing ground by the second.

Richard pressed his self-righteous point, the stinker. “If you weren’t home or in D.C., Tío knew you were off getting into trouble. He called Lila, Lila called me, and I never promised I would lie for you.”

“No, of course not.”

“We don’t do that.”

“No we don’t.” I conceded and was contrite. “What’s done is done. Let’s move on, Richard.”

He made a noise like a pelican swallowing a fish too big for its gullet. “Where the hell did that come from? Is that some third rate mantra from a feel-good school of the seventies?”

“It worked so well on Nick, I thought I’d give it a try on you.”

“Well, save it and get your arse back home.”

Richard isn’t from Mom’s school of thought on the indelicacies of body parts, either. His tone of voice sobered after his declaration, less smirk, more sincerity.

Cristo Redentor, the statue of Chris
“Lee, listen to me. This is serious now. I found out some information late last night, and it changes things. That’s why I called.”

“Like what?”

“Like the man listed on the manifest as the girl’s father. He’s dead. Rio police found him floating in an estuary not three miles from the beach day before yesterday, shot in the back of the head, execution style. Probably an untraceable World War II gun, they’re thinking, like a German Mauser. There’s a ton of them for sale on the black market where you are. Sis, if this is Kelli, and she did this, you are out of your league. Did you at least call the two brothers yet?”

“I just got off the plane. Give me a minute.”

“Just remember, you can’t go it alone. If you can’t reach them, come home. Or wait for backup. We can send two men to help you. Ed and Pete are available.”

“Not happening.”

“Lee,” he whined, not liking my answer.

“Richard,” I whined in return, doing a fair imitation of him. “Stop worrying. It’ll be fine. Changing the subject, how’d you do on nearby hostelries?” By now I was off the plane and walking through the terminal, heading for customs.

There was silence for about ten seconds. Richard was the first to give in, with a loud expulsion of air causing me to pull the phone away from my ear.

“Okay, for the moment, I’ll drop it.” I heard the clicking sounds of his mouse, probably as he was bringing up information on his computer.

“There are seventeen of them scattered around. Six don’t have computer check-in, if you can believe it. You’ll have to check those out yourself. But of the eleven I could rule out, A—there is no single woman registered by herself, B—no younger woman with an older man, or C—no female child with a father. So Kelli’s not at one of those, as far as I can tell.”

“Good going. Of the six left for me to do, are there any, shall we say, of the high-price spread?”

“What?”

“Elegant, expensive, have the niceties of life?”

“Wait a minute.” More clicks.

“That’s one noisy mouse you’ve got there,” I remarked.

“I’ve got you on speaker phone. It picks up everything. Ah, here they are. There are three.
La Posada del Mar, Casa de Linda, Hosteria de Bougainvillea
. The
del Mar
and the
Linda
are both on the border, right over the canal, in
Leblon,
but most people still think of it as Ipanema.”

“All three are on the beach, right?”

“On
Avenida Vieria Souto,
which is across the street from the beach,” he corrected. “Nothing’s allowed on the beach. I thought you knew that.”

Richard is a stickler for the facts. Whereas I find facts often get in the way of what I’m trying to do.

“Right, right,” I said, brushing his words off. “Addresses, please.”

Richard delivered, and I scribbled them on a notepad to put into the GPS on my phone. “I’ll get back to you soon,” I said, almost hanging up.

“You’ll get back to me in an hour,” he shouted so loud, a passing woman with a baby stroller turned and stared at me. “Or I’m calling the local police and sending them out to find you. You check in every hour on the hour, or all bets are off. Maybe I’ll come down and drag you back, myself.”

“Okay, Tuffy Toes. I get the message.”

My reply was light and fluffy, but I knew Richard meant it. I’d have to remember to call him and punched an alert into my phone to beep me every hour. Brothers are such a pain.

Speaking of pains, I’d had to pay an exorbitant amount of money to a San Francisco professional service to get a fast visa for me, allowing me into Brazil. Not sure why, but a passport is not enough. Life is filled with these sorts of things.

While waiting in line at customs, I made a few phone calls. As promised, the first was to the Janardo Brothers. There was a long message in Portuguese on their answering machine, something about being out on their client’s yacht for the next few weeks. That was all I could make out. Maybe they were guarding him against jellyfish or sharks. Too bad, but it wasn’t going to stop me. I’d just keep this little tidbit of info from Richard until I got back home.

The next call was to Gurn, and his voicemail picked up, praise be. I left a quick, cheery message about my change in plans and thanked him for the flowers. I didn’t mention I hoped he would be tied up in meetings for several more hours before he listened to it. Maybe everything would all be over by the time he got my message.

And maybe the result of my going ‘wiggy,’ as Richard said, was I would be spending some solitary time down here, licking my wounds because I had been cut loose again by a fab guy who couldn’t stand what I did for a living and how I did it.

Determined not to stay any longer in the mental Valley of Death, I looked up the three remaining hostelries on Richard’s list on my phone, plus captured a picture of Kelli I’d managed to find, blurry but better than nothing.

Customs went fast enough. By nine thirty, I was standing in the sun at the rental car lot. Waiting for my car, I felt a brain–piercing hit of direct sun on the top of my head. Stupid me, I forgot my sunhat. Way to go, Lee.

The seasons are reversed south of the equator, and weather-wise, it was late spring, pushing into a hot and humid tropical summer. I pulled off my jacket and using its scarf, tied my hair back into a ponytail. Beads of perspiration on my forehead and upper lip had already begun to form. It was going to be a hot one.

Deliberately renting a yucky, non-descript beige car, I tossed my small carryon bag into the massive trunk. Throw in

a shower, and I could have rented the trunk out as a hotel room. Once inside the car and with the air conditioning blasting, I set the smart phone on GPS, loaded in the addresses, slapped it on the dashboard, and started the sixteen-mile drive to my destination.

Heading into their summer vacation season, Rio’s roads were packed. I looked around and understood why. True, it was warm and humid, but the locale gorgeous, laid-back, and fun, especially where I was going.

I had only been to Ipanema once as a kid, but I remembered it vividly. The main drag,
Avenida Vieria Souto
, attracted the hot, beautiful, and half-naked, swarming the street and sidewalks in their thongs and tans. As a non-Portuguese speaker, Spanish proved very useful during our visit, as it would now. If you speak slowly enough, the
Cariocas
, or locals, understand well enough for everyone to get by.

All three of the hostelries Richard gave me were facing the beach, tucked away at the end of charming, cobblestone streets. I looked forward to browsing the cafes, shops, and boutiques jammed alongside each other, colorful and unique. All in all, if you have to be somewhere, Ipanema is not a bad place to be. I found myself enjoying the ride, even singing that stupid tune I couldn’t get out of my head.

Speaking of heads, after I parked the car on a side street, I dashed into a small store and bought a wide-brim, floppy hat for traipsing around town. My plan was to walk to all three small hotels, starting in alphabetical order, the
Casa de Linda
.

The
Casa de Linda
proved to be a bust, although it cost me two hundred
reals
, or the equivalent of about eighty U.S.

dollars. The greedy hotel clerk, an old bag named
Alonzia
, decided to bilk me for as much as she could before admitting the only female guests they had were three middle-aged women from New Jersey. My new hat and I stood out on the

sidewalk in disgust, while I formed a better plan. My direct and honest approached had not worked. Not only was it money for nothing,
Alonzia
wasted about twenty five-minutes of my time.

At the end of one the cobblestone streets, and behind thick stone walls, the
Hosteria de Bougainvillea
sat in regal repose. Once through its massive Flamingo pink wooden gate, I found myself inside a garden of lush, bird-filled palm trees. Covering the ground was a profusion of coleus plants, luxuriating in the perfect combination of soil, sun, and shade. Large, glossy leaves, bobbed in the light breeze in patterns and shades of red, maroon, yellow, gold, green, dark brown, and black. Clinging to the outside walls of the hotel, purple bougainvilleas cascaded from roof to ground, exquisite in color and abundance. A narrow pathway of earth tone tinted tiles cut through all this glory, leading me under an intricately carved limestone arch and into an indoor/outdoor lobby. Distinguishable from the rest of the garden only by its slate floor and forty-foot high, domed ceiling, it was open to the world on two of its four sides.

Off to the right, one of the two walls was of chiseled stone. Burbling water tumbled down from its crest, passing over fern-dotted rocks, and trickled into a small pool filled with golden Koi fish, each roughly the size of a small child. On the opposing wall, orchids of every variety imaginable clung to chunks of moss-covered rocks. In hues of purples, pinks, yellows, and white, these flowers looked happier than a plant has a right to be dangling from such a precarious position.

Overhead the glass-domed ceiling, inset with swirlings of small, cobalt-colored mosaic tiles, sparkled dark against the lighter blue of the sky. Dappled rays of sun played through

the transparent sections of the dome and onto the terracotta and cream hues of the airy and sumptuous lobby. Weaving throughout this marvelous room were several sitting areas, with comfortable-looking cushioned teak and bamboo chairs and sofas. Matching tables proudly displayed sculptures, works of art, and the occasional exotic plant, obviously visiting from the garden.

But before me was the
pièce de
résistance
. I beheld an open, massive passageway leading to the beach, from which long, gossamer thin, white sheers danced in the day’s breeze. The azure waters of the Atlantic seductively beckoned from behind, soft waves caressing a white linen beach.