Getaway Girlz (22 page)

Kate hovered over Vivian’s shoulder. “So if they’re such nice people, why is Al calling Shorty? I mean, I realize we’ve got nothing on Shorty, but something seems off there.”

“It is a bit suspicious.” Wendy peered at the computer screen.

Lucy joined them at the desk. “It can’t be good.”

They watched as Vivian pulled up a few more articles about the restaurant, but nothing of any significance. She was about to call it quits when they saw a blurb saying “Al Russo, Jr. suspected in disappearance of Franco Gaspare in July, 1972.”

“I knew it!” Lucy pointed to the screen. “I knew Al was in the mob!”

Vivian clicked on the link and read the article out loud.

Local restaurateur Al Russo, Jr. was arrested yesterday in connection with the disappearance of Franco Gaspare. Gaspare was last seen Friday evening leaving Russo’s restaurant with Tony Mancuso, who was recently released from prison after serving three years for racketeering.

Mancuso has refused to cooperate with police and would not return calls for comment. However, an anonymous source tells the Tribune that an argument took place behind the restaurant and that Mancuso left hurriedly
.

“It said Al Junior, Lucy” Wendy turned away from the computer and sat on the bed. “The Al Russo we know is the III. The article must be about his dad.”

“Racketeering,” Lucy said. “That seriously implies the mob.”

“Ugh, I know,” Wendy admitted. “But maybe we’re on to something here. Let’s see what else we can find on Al’s father and grandfather.”

Vivian continued scrolling through the headlines but with no luck. There was no follow-up on the story they had read, and they couldn’t find anything else about Al Junior. “I guess Al Sr. lived too long ago to make it to the Internet,” she said.

“I think we’ve seen enough to confirm that Al’s father must be, or was, semi-shady,” Wendy said, getting up and pacing the room. “I don’t really care if the Al we know is a little shady, but I don’t want to get caught up in any of it. To his credit though, he has been nothing but nice to us and he has tried to help Viv.”

“Just in case, maybe we should keep our distance from them.” Kate said. “You know the old saying about ‘the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ Al III is probably involved in the same kinds of stuff his dad was. Especially since he now runs the restaurant.”

“I don’t think we should affiliate with any mobsters,” Lucy agreed. “But Adrienne said her brother is a cop, so maybe they’re not totally bad.”

“Uh…a cop in
New Orleans
,” Wendy said. “The mob is big-time there.”

“Really?” Lucy asked. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yep,” Wendy said, nodding her head. “Started there, in fact. Sicilian immigrants.”

Vivian closed the laptop and turned toward them. “I want to trust Al, but it makes me nervous that everything about him sounds suspicious.”

Wendy stopped pacing. “We haven’t heard from Pierre this morning. Why don’t we go see if he’s in his room? We need to tell him about seeing Detective Vega with Ponytail, and see if he will go to Shorty’s party with us.”

“We should also tell him what we know about Al, and how he called Shorty,” Kate said.

“Oh, and don’t forget we need to search his room for bugs before we start talking to him,” Lucy added.

Vivian stood up from the desk. “Good god. I can’t live like this.”

VIVIAN KNOCKED on Pierre’s door and waited for him to answer. No sounds came from the room.

“Try again, knock louder,” Wendy said, “just in case.”

Vivian rapped again, hoping to wake him if he was in there.

A thud sounded through the door. “Did he just fall out of bed?” Vivian asked.

“Was that a groan?” Kate said. They look at each other anxiously.

The girls heard footsteps. A shadow moved in front of the peep hole and there was a definite groan.

“Hey Pierre,” Vivian gave a little wave and tried to smile.

The chain slid back and the deadbolt clicked open. Pierre answered the door looking pretty rough, and wearing nothing but wrinkled shorts.

Must have drunk himself into oblivion last night
, Vivian thought.

“What’s up?” he grumbled.

Vivian put her finger to her mouth and the four of them walked in, uninvited, and started searching his room.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Quit going through my stuff!”

He did not look happy that Vivian just went through his suitcase and rifled his boxers.

“I found it!” Lucy turned away from a lamp similar to the one in their room and held the bug out for Pierre to see. “You want to smash it or should I?”

Pierre looked in a quandary at the tiny device in Lucy’s hand. Since he didn’t reply, Lucy put the bug on the floor and stomped it as if it were a giant, flying Pasadena cockroach.

Kate picked up the pieces and flushed them down the toilet. “I almost feel like we should have a ceremony, say a few words.”

“It’s not a pet goldfish, Kate,” Wendy said.

“What the hell?” Pierre said.

“It was a bug you know, spy stuff. We had one in our room, too,” Lucy explained.

They caught Pierre up on everything that had happened since he left them at the pool the day before. He didn’t say a word during the entire spiel.

Wrapping things up, Vivian said, “When we were leaving Julio’s boat, he invited us to his party Friday night at his house. Want to go with us?”

Between the information overload and his obvious hangover, Pierre looked sick.

“Are you okay?” Lucy called after him as he rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

The sound of water running started a few seconds later. They decided he needed more privacy and went out to the balcony.

About ten minutes later he emerged freshly showered and wearing a robe. He looked better but unshaven and still a little glassy eyed.

He slid the door closed to the balcony and leaned against the railing, facing the four of them. “Okay, let me make sure I have this straight. You went to the marina to talk to Julio, whom you also call Shorty, but he wasn’t there. As you leave, the guy with the Ponytail chases you through town. Kate loses him so you come back to the hotel to talk with Al. Al tells you to steer clear of Ponytail, but he doesn’t actually know who Ponytail is. Al’s contact was able to trace the blog to the hotel and then you find Stella’s hair, presumably, in a bush. You tell Detective Vega all of this. Then you go back to the marina, talk with Julio, and while you’re there, you think Al calls Julio. You go to leave and see Detective Vega and Ponytail talking and shake hands. Is that about right?”

“Yes,” Vivian answered. “It’s like everyone is somehow connected. Al has tried to help me but I’m not sure I can trust him one hundred percent. I think it is best not to talk to him about Shorty though.”

“Don’t forget about the party,” Lucy interjected. “We want you to go with us.”

“Okay, yes. I will go with you but, wow,” Pierre said. “What do we do from here?”

Everyone mulled this over for a minute.

“We need to search for Stella some more,” Wendy said. “I don’t want to get near Ponytail, Detective Vega or Shorty at the moment. We had enough run-ins with them yesterday.”

“That lady is like water vapor. She’s around but we can’t see her,” Pierre said. “Where should we look?”

“There’s Quinta Avenida in central Playa,” Kate said. “I crossed it yesterday as Ponytail was chasing us.”

“I’m surprised you were able to see anything but blurs on that chase,” Vivian said.

“I looked down that street as an avenue for escape but saw the shops and restaurants and knew it would be too dangerous,” Kate said. “It did look like a good area to buy souvenirs and I want to get something for Shaun.”

“We have seen Stella at touristy nightspots, so Quinta Avenida is worth a shot,” Vivian said. “Anyone have any other ideas?”

Shrugs and head shakes all around. Nope.

“Well, then, meet me in the lobby in five minutes,” Pierre said. “I need to get dressed.”

From the lobby, the girls saw that the number of reporters outside seemed to have quadrupled.

“Great,” Vivian muttered.

Lupe Mendoza saw them looking out the windows and shouted to her photographer. Whatever she said got everyone’s attention, and the media frenzy suddenly rushed inside.

The front desk clerk flapped around trying to shoo the journalists out of the lobby to no avail. They descended on Vivian, shouting questions. She couldn’t hear or even understand all of them thanks to the language barrier, but what she could make out appalled her.

“How did you do it?” “Why did you kill Jon Tournay?” “Was he a good lover?”

“Pull a Michael Jackson!” Lucy shouted at Vivian.

She gave Lucy a bewildered look. “What?”

“Cover your face!”

She heeded Lucy’s advice and ducked her head. Pierre showed up moments later and took control, shoving reporters and photographers aside, making room through the crowd. Kate, Lucy and Wendy grabbed on and propelled Vivian out the door and to the parking lot.

They jumped in the rent car and slammed and locked the doors. Pierre took the hump seat in back.

Lucy about ran over half a dozen journalists in her haste to get out of there.

“Good grief,” Wendy said. “What a fiasco.”

“Al was right,” Kate said with a sigh. “There are definitely a lot more reporters here than last night.”

“I don’t think I can take this crap every time we come and go from the hotel,” Vivian said. “We need a secret entrance.”

Pierre shook his head. “Jon was just getting popular in Canada, but I never expected this kind of turnout. This is insane.”

“You need to buy a hat and a scarf at the market, Viv,” Lucy said.

“I certainly don’t want my picture plastered all over the newspapers and on TV down here, but it will become a real problem if this news gets to the states,” Vivian said, stifling a cry.

Pierre turned and glanced behind them. “I think one of the reporters is following us.”

Kate turned to look. “Yep, it’s that Lupe woman from last night and her photographer. What news media are they with again?”

“
Escándalos
,” Wendy replied with disdain. “I think it’s the Mexican equivalent of
National Enquirer
.”

Lucy parked close to the ferry and they piled out onto Quinta Avenida. Lupe and the photographer parked close by, got out of their car and leaned against the bug-splattered front.

Vultures
. Vivian shot them the bird.

SHOPS AND restaurants, bars and hotels lined Quinta Avenida, stretching for more than thirty blocks and ended at the ferry dock to Cozumel. Most of the shops had completely open store fronts, in an attempt to invite tourists inside. Carts full of knick-knacks and racks of clothing littered the sidewalks up and down the street.

The girls and Pierre walked into the first shop they came to.

Kate stepped back onto the sidewalk and peeked around a rack of dresses toward Lupe and the photographer. “They’re not following us.”

“For now.” Wendy swatted at a piñata hanging from the ceiling.

“Screw those assholes,” Vivian said from the back of the store. “I’m diggin’ this hammock. I’ve got two great trees in the backyard this would be perfect for.”

“This is like the Sam’s Club of Mexican touristy goods,” Lucy remarked. “They’ve got just about everything in here. And in bulk.” She held up a ten pack of spray-on sunscreen. “If it wouldn’t put me over the baggage weight limit I’d be all over this!”

“It is way too crowded in here,” Pierre said. “There’s definitely nowhere for Stella to hide. Let’s move on.”

They crossed the street and went into another store selling mostly clothing. Dresses, lace tops that looked like doilies, colorful ponchos, Guayaberas.

Lucy looked at the price tag on a frilly dress. “Oh! This is not the Sam’s of Mexican touristy goods.”

As they left the shop, Pierre reported, “No journalist out here.”

“Excelente!” Vivian said.

They passed a shop under construction with a ladder leaning against the front wall. Lucy, not paying attention, was on course to walk directly underneath it.

Kate reached out and grabbed her arm. “Watch out, Lucy!”

“What?” Lucy asked.

“You almost walked underneath that ladder,” Kate pointed out.

“Oh.”

“What’s the superstition with that?” Vivian asked Kate, thinking about the mirror she broke and threw away at the airport.

“It’s bad luck,” Kate said.

“We’re having enough of that, don’t need to add to it,” Lucy said.

“No kidding,” Wendy said. “Watch out for black cats, don’t step on any cracks, and for goodness sakes, don’t walk under any ladders! Don’t go near a ladder, don’t climb a ladder, just stay away from ladders.”

They stopped at the next shop which was full of ceramics — turtles, iguanas, suns, and an entire section of ancient Indian-looking figurines. Kate was drawn to the phallic artifacts.

Memories of Kate’s bachelorette party flashed before Vivian’s eyes.

The girls had met at one of Kate’s co-worker’s house. Her neighbor across the street had several topiaries in the landscaping. One was supposed to resemble a horse maybe or a dog, they couldn’t figure it out. What it most closely resembled was a penis on four legs. Vivian and Kate pretended to lick it while Wendy snapped a picture.

“Finding any four-legged topiaries?” Vivian joined Kate.

“Nope. Everything but.”

Vivian picked up a coffee cup called over to Pierre, “Do you think this is proportionally accurate?” The cup handle was a weirdo guy with his wanger reaching to the sky. His thing was taller than his noggin.

Pierre gave her a look, made a “pffft” sound and shook his head.

Vivian had no intentions of buying anything at the jewelry store they stopped in next, but the over-eager sales people wore her down. She gave in and purchased a pair of silver hoop earrings. Kate bought a beautiful silver necklace studded with turquoise stones, Wendy a silver and jade ring, and germ-a-phobe Lucy wouldn’t consider touching anything, much less purchasing it.