No Perfect Secret (32 page)

“You think we’ll have any problem getting into a restaurant? I was so travel weary when we checked in, I forgot to make reservations.”

“No problem,” said the man. “It’s after nine. You only need reservations if you want to eat in the specialty restaurants between six and eight.”

While they waited for the tram introductions were made.

The man was Richard, a police detective from Denver. His wife was Cynthia, a travel agent. Caburn shared that he was an investigator for the State Department, and introduced Anna as a librarian.

“Whoo,” said Richard, releasing her hand. “Where were you when I was in the fourth grade?”

“You guys aren’t honeymooners, are you?” Cynthia asked.

“No, no. We’re single,” Caburn told them.

“Thank God,” announced Cynthia. “I am royally sick of bridezillas and momzillas.” She went on to explain that she had been the travel liaison for a bride and groom and their families and friends for a wedding that had taken place earlier in the day. Caburn and Richard fell into step, walking ahead of the women.

Cynthia smiled. “By the time the tram lets us off at the
Palladium, those guys are going to be bosom buddies and Richard is going to ask you to dine with us. Would you mind?”

“No, not a bit.”

“Terrific. We’ve been here three days. I’ve been working on the wedding and Richard has been bored out of his mind for somebody to talk to. The only excitement he’s had was down at the salt water pool when a shark got in it.”

“Oh, gosh. We were actually in the pool when that happened. Hotel staff got him out eventually. It was a juvenile. I don’t know what kind.”

“Richard didn’t stay for that. Some guy wearing a thong—bare-assed and advertising his equipment tried to strike up a conversation.”

Anna laughed. “We saw him! Oh my goodness. Frank moved so fast to the other end of the pool
—”

Cynthia looked ahead to the men and shook her head. “Yep. How do men like ours just seem to know stuff like that about one another? It damned sure isn’t imprinted on their foreheads.”

Men like ours
. Anna started to say that Frank wasn’t hers. But to explain would be embarrassing, and lead to even more explanations. Best to leave it there.

When they got to the restaurant, Frank put his hand in the concave area of her back
—a proprietary measure that made Anna feel warmth from neck to thigh. He pulled her aside and bent to whisper in her ear. “We’re invited to dine with Richard and Cynthia. Is that okay with you? I know they’re strangers and all—”

“Yes. I like her. I think it’s fine.”

“C’mon, let’s get a drink,” Cynthia said, pulling Anna toward the standup bar. “Richard’s put our name on the list. They have to clear a table.” She ordered a Midori and tonic with a wedge of lime.

“Wow, that’s beautiful,” Anna said of the pale green drink the bartender placed on the bar.

“It’s a melon drink and the only one I usually drink in the tropics when the sun goes down. It’s refreshing, it goes with everything, and—you can suck down a half dozen without getting so soused you need aspirin in the morning. Try a sip.”

Anna did. “Oh, yum.”

“Told you,” said Cynthia. She ordered the drink for Anna, and a refill for herself.

After the server took their orders for entrées, and drinks
—the men declined wine and stayed with Tecate—they hit the salad bars.

“The food here is fabulous,” Anna observed trailing behind Cynthia.

“It’s a good thing because I own a man who loves to eat.”

“What do you know about the tours on offer,” Anna asked. “We’re thinking of going to Cambalache Steak House and then on to Coco Bongo tomorrow night.”

“Oh, I love them both. I always suggest both to my clients. The steaks at Cambalache are mouthwatering, and I don’t say that lightly. There are three places I’d go for steaks in the states. The Brown Palace in Denver, the Kansas City Stock Yard Café, and this working ranch about twenty miles east of El Paso. Outside the states, it’s Cambalache in Cancun and Gaucho’s in Panama.”

“My word,” Anna exclaimed. “Frank and I have eaten at the Kansas City Stock Yard Café. We’re both from Kansas.” Her conscience stabbed in her head, but she fought it back. They
had
both eaten there, just not together. And, they both were from Kansas—he from one side of the state; she from the other.

Cynthia stopped ladling dressing on her salad. “How the heck did you end up in D.C.?”

“A job I couldn’t refuse.”

“There you go. Frank, too?”

“Yes, but I think he’s torn between the State Department and farming.” Oh, God. Half-truths were rolling off her tongue like hot silver.

“
About the tour, though. You eat, then get bussed to Coco Bongo and after the floorshow, you’re hauled off to three more hot spots. You won’t get back until two in the morning. You’re better off taking a taxi to Cambalache; dine at leisure and another taxi to Coco Bongo. After the floor show you can hang there and dance. You salsa?”

“Maybe
—after three or four Midori and tonics and maybe a splash of tequila.”

Cynthia laughed. “Same here.”

Anna stopped at the fruit bar, balanced plates on her wrist and loaded it with fresh melons, kiwi, and sliced mango.

“Wow, you handle those plates like pro.”

“I went to cooking school in Paris. One of our first lessons was how to juggle plates and platters.”

“Oh, my gosh! I took a tour group to France two years ago. I wanted to live at the Louvre
—until I saw Versailles; I’m not talking about the palaces—but the village. All those neat open-air restaurants, and the pastries! And the chocolatiers! I swear I fantasize more about French chocolate than I do sex.” Cynthia closed her eyes for a moment. “It took me three months to lose the weight I gained.”

Anna thought: It was probably
Belgian chocolate or Swiss. But she didn’t say anything. She was enjoying this new acquaintance.

On their way back to the table, Cynthia made a proposal. “Richard is going deep sea fishing in the morning, but if you guys would like to make foursome tomorrow night?”

“Sounds good to me. I’m not sure about Frank.”

Cynthia snorted.
“Hah. Haven’t you ever heard of don’t ask—tell!”

“We’re kind of new at this,” Anna said. And that
was
the truth.

“Well, I’m not! I’ll put a bug in Richard’s ear. He can persuade a flea to slay a frog. Oh,
geez, look at him. I know that superior smirk. He’s already telling his stupidest criminal stories. Oh, well,” she said with affectionate tolerance. “New audience. New ears.”

Both men stood up when they returned to the table. Anna thought that was beyond nice.

“I’ve been trying to talk Frank into going deep sea fishing with me in the morning.” He looked at Anna. “I know this is your holiday and all—but can you spare him for a few hours?”

Anna thought:
I don’t really have any say in the matter
. “Sure. Frank, if you want to go? I can work on my tan.”

“I’ve got this injury to my back. I’m not supposed to
—”

Anna could see the wistfulness in his expression.

“Hey, man. Just come along for the ride. You can spot me. There’s nobody on the boat except the captain and the fish techs. I do catch and release. Anyway, the boat’s paid for. Won’t cost you a dime.”

Caburn was looking at Anna. “It’s not that.”

No, it’s not that, Anna thought. He’s thinking he has to babysit me.

Cynthia, seeing the expression on Caburn’s face and reading it correctly, jumped in. “Frank, if you go fishing with Richard, Anna and I can go shopping in Cancun
—and brother—that will cost you!”

“Oh, I’d love that!” Anna said.

“Then it’s a done deal,” exclaimed Richard. He turned to his wife. “Taxi there and taxi back—right? No wandering and taking side trips to the little markets in the villages.”

“Cross my heart.”

“This area isn’t safe?” Caburn asked with alarm.

“The resorts are. The hotels provide a list of approved taxi and van drivers. Cynthia knows the ropes. I just don’t want her to get a wild hair
—go looking for a bargain.”

Cynthia smiled sweetly. “Just don’t forget to leave me your credit card and I promise not to bargain hunt.”

“Geez, between you and the girls—”

“We have twin fourteen-
year-olds,” said Cynthia. “Very high maintenance. They’re snow-boarding wizards, which is why they aren’t with us this trip. My parents have a place in Aspen. That’s where they go for Christmas since they stopped believing in Santa Claus.”

“Neither of you look old enough to have a fourteen-year-old.”

Cynthia put her hand on Anna’s arm. “You are now my very best friend for life. But Richard’s got the genes, I’ve got the Botox.”

“I’m all for it,” Anna answered.

When dinner was over, Richard and Frank put tips on the table, and the couples strolled back to the atrium. A band was playing, people were dancing.

Richard and Cynthia stayed to listen to the music. Caburn and Anna opted to take the tram back to their suite.

Anna washed her face and hands, brushed her teeth and put on cotton pajamas.

Caburn was sitting at the little round table, sipping on a beer.

“Where’d that come from?” Anna asked.

“There’s a fridge in the armoire. Soft drinks, beer, water. And we’ve got a coffee pot. Richard clued me in. The staff restocks it every day.”

“I didn’t even think to look.” Anna discovered a Diet Coke and popped the top. “Oh, gosh. Freezing cold. This is great.” She turned on the wall lamp by her bed, pulled down the covers and puffed up the pillows before stretching out. It seemed to her every muscle ached. “Whoo…I feel like we’ve already been here a week. I’d like to hug whoever decided to send us here.” Her eyes met Caburn’s. He was smiling.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. You walked around more than half naked on the beach and in our room you’re covered from neck to ankle.”

“I could change that round.”

“Better not. I was just saying.”

She reached up and snapped off the lamp leaving only the filtered light from
poles scattered near the estuary. Her eyes closed, but she was feeling a jolt from the caffeine-laced Coke. She listened to Frank move about the room, open and close the dresser drawer, go into the bathroom, she heard the water running. A spray of light fell across the room when he opened the bathroom door. He snapped it off. His bed clothes rustled as he settled himself. If he reached out his hand, and she reached out hers, they could touch fingertips.

“Frank?”

“Yep.”

“What you did tonight, striking up a conversation with Richard? Kevin would never have done that.”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean
—nope?”

“Strange men were probably anathema to him. They could be the dad, brother, uncle, cousin or friend of a woman he was trying to hit on. Or, they’d trip him up. Suppose he took you to a movie or a concert and ran into a couple he’d met when he was with Janie? Or that woman in Florida? He couldn’t chance it.”

“That seems farfetched.”

“Not really. We’re in Mexico and we met a couple who have both dined at the Kansas City Stockyards. You and Cynthia have both been to France. Richard and I are both investigators. Moreover
, I didn’t choose for us to come here. Albert was actually leaning toward sending you to a spa in Palm Beach. But Helen and I thought it wouldn’t be a good idea to send you off somewhere to be alone over the holidays. Without family to support you... Well—we felt that wasn’t right. It was the travel master at the State Department who chose this resort—and that was because a half-dozen other places were booked solid. He remembered this one at the last minute because he’d brought his wife here on their wedding anniversary.

“So, farfetched? I don’t think so. Plus, Nesmith was a control freak
—and you can’t control strangers—people you don’t really know.” He yawned. His jaw clicked. “Gads, I’m tired.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”

“We investigated, Anna. We talked to his bosses, his co-workers. He was charming, funny, but he never went out for a beer with the guys, didn’t play on the softball team—”

“That’s true,” she acknowledged
and then with a soft laugh she added, “When would he have time for softball?” She turned on her side, facing Caburn’s bed. In the spare light she could make out only that he was lying on his back, his hands tucked beneath his head on the pillow.

“He wasn’t going to put himself in social situations he couldn’t control, and he wasn’t going to get close to another man. Men have a built-in radar when something isn’t quite right about the other guy. Might take a couple of parties or dinners, but eventually that radar is gonna kick in.”

“He fooled Janie’s dad didn’t he?”