Fields' Guide to Abduction by - (list of ebook readers TXT) 📖

“In a minute.” Detective Gonzales returned his gaze to me and I was grateful I’d taken a minute to change out of my ruined nightgown. “Who are you?”

“Poppy Fields.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your real name.”

“That is my real name.” Chariss had an unfortunate sense of humor. That or she never imagined naming me after the source of heroin would be a problem. Maybe both. Probably both.

He snorted. “Tell me what happened.”

I told Detective Gonzales everything I’d told Señor Silva.

Unlike Silva and Valdez, the mention of Javier Diaz didn’t make Gonzales’s skin turn green. The detective’s eyes lit up. His nose twitched. Beneath his twitching nose, his mustache twitched. His lips curled into a predatory grin.

“So, she was afraid of Javier Diaz? You’re sure?”

“No. I’m not. She never said the man’s name. But as I told these men, I saw them together and assumed they were a couple or he wanted them to be.”

“Señorita Vargas was Señor Diaz’s guest at the resort,” offered Silva.

Detective Gonzales stroked his upper lip. “And you didn’t know her?”

“No.”

“You let a woman you didn’t know spend the night in your villa?” Disbelief colored the detective’s voice.

Of course I’d let her stay. Her grandmother had been kind to my mother. I didn’t tell him that. “She was afraid—terrified—and there were fresh bruises on her arm.”

“You didn’t know her? Not at all?” The man was like a dog with a bone.

“I met her yesterday.”

Gonzales’s predatory grin grew more predatory. “Yesterday? Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

The unpleasant smile curling his lips sent shivers down my spine.

He pulled out his phone and shoved the screen under my nose. There was a picture of Marta and me smiling at each other as if we’d been best friends since we were old enough to toddle. As if we’d never had such a wonderful time. As if we planned on toasting each other’s weddings, sending extravagant baby gifts, drinking wine together every Tuesday, and taking girls trips every February. “You still don’t know her?”

I shrugged. “That was a photo op.”

“Looks to me like you’re friends. Good friends.”

“No.”

“We’ll see.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “May I see your passport, Miss Fields?” He pronounced my name as if he didn’t yet believe anyone would name their child Poppy Fields. Right then, I didn’t believe it either.

“Of course.” I stood, crossed the room to the door of the master bedroom, and paused. “Señor Silva will vouch for me.”

Gonzales raised an eyebrow. “You just said Señor Silva welcomed the head of a drug cartel into his hotel. He’s hardly trustworthy. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take his word.”

When he put it that way, I couldn’t argue.

I glanced at Silva—his skin tone was greener than ever.

Without another word, I slipped into the bedroom, opened the wall safe, and grabbed my passport.

“Here it is.” I walked toward the detective with my passport held out.

He took it from me, opened the cover, read my name, then slipped the document into the inside pocket of his suit.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“You will remain in Mexico.”

Could he even do that? I directed my gaze at Silva whose skin had passed from green to gray. He was no help.

“You are a material witness in a murder investigation,” declared Detective Gonzales. “You will not leave the country. This—” he patted his coat pocket “—is my way of making sure you don’t.”

We’d just see about that. I’d have my passport back within twenty-four hours or the lawyers at Gardner, Jackson & Bray would eat their fee. A thing that never happened. Ever.

Detective Gonzales might be scary and Javier Diaz might be dangerous but they had nothing on Chariss’ lawyers. They were barracudas posing as humans. Compared to the senior partners at Gardner, Jackson & Bray, the detective and the drug lord looked like little girls with a lemonade stand.

“May I have one of your cards, Detective?”

He dug one out of a leather case and I snatched it from his fingers.

“You will not leave the country,” he repeated.

I refrained—barely—from telling him I’d heard him the first time.

Brnng, brnng.

Señor Silva patted his coat pockets, pulled out a phone, and frowned at the screen. “Si?”

The resort manager listened to the caller and his skin color took a turn for the worse. Zombie-apocalypse worse. “Eso es horrible.” That I understood. The rest of his responses were so rapid, I only caught one word—muerte.

Someone else was dead.

He hung up the phone and looked at Detective Gonzales. “Vámonos!”

They were leaving? Where? There was a body upstairs. “You can’t leave, detective, what about Marta?”

“There’s been a murder.” He winced as if he’d said too much. “Please, Miss Fields, don’t talk to anyone.”

The two men exchanged a few words so rapidly I caught none of what they said. Then they hurried toward the door.

“Wait!” Their steps paused at my panicked voice. “What about Marta?’

“An overdose, yes?”

“Sí,” replied Señor Valdez.

“I’ll send a couple of uniforms to deal with it.” Detective Gonzales turned his back on us.

“It” not her. I was going to enjoy setting Gardner, Jackson & Bray loose on the detective.

“Señor Silva!” My voice slowed the two men’s steps a second time.

The resort manager’s hands clenched, his shoulders hunched, and he looked over his shoulder, annoyance writ clearly on his face. “What?”

“Since Detective Gonzales insists that I stay in Mexico, I’ll need a new villa.”

He winced.

“You cannot expect me to stay in this place. It’s a crime scene.” Not to mention, there was no way Mia would stay upstairs by herself and I didn’t want her sleeping in my bedroom.

With a resigned nod, Silva nodded. “I will get you another villa, Señorita, do not worry.”

Silva and Gonzales hurried out the door.

I picked up a Jo Malone English pear and freesia travel candle and a framed picture of Mia and me taken at Palmyra Peak in Telluride and deposited them on the dining table. I added a second picture—Chariss and me at the Oscars—and the cashmere throw I’d draped over the back of the couch.

Chariss never traveled without a suitcase full of photographs, candles, throws, monogrammed coffee mugs, and her own pillows. When she was on an extended shoot, she brought her own sheets.

Making a hotel feel like home was one of her habits I’d acquired through osmosis.

“What are you doing?” Mia stood in the doorway.

I’d never been so glad to see anyone. My knees shook with relief. “I’m packing.”

“Why? I just got here.”

“We’re getting a new villa.”

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“Someone died upstairs.”

She didn’t respond right away—it’s hard to talk with your mouth hanging open. Finally, she snapped her jaw shut. “What?”

“I let someone spend the night here and she died.”

“Died?”

“Yes.”

She stepped inside the villa and André took her spot in the doorway. “Did I hear you say someone died in your villa?” He opened his arms as if he could tell I needed a hug.

I rushed into his embrace. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Mia wanted to surprise you. Who died?”

“Marta Vargas.”

“Who?” asked Mia.

“A Mexican movie star.” My response was muffled by André’s shirt.

“She did a bunch of telenovelas then moved on to film. Big star.” André probably knew precisely how much she could have earned per Instagram post.

“And you knew her?” Mia demanded.

“I didn’t know her. I met her yesterday.”

“And she died here last night?” My best friend sounded as suspicious as Detective Gonzales. “What was she doing here?”

“She showed up here terrified. She was certain someone would kill her. She wanted me to get her out of Mexico.”

“What happened to her?” asked Mia.

“She overdosed.”

Mia leveled a squinty look my way. The look said many things. Holy hell! and Do the police know this is your second body? and Should I be worried?

I pulled loose of André’s arms. “If you’ll finish gathering things in here, I’ll pack my clothes.

“Why don’t we just go home?” asked André.

“I can’t. The police took my passport.”

“They what?” Mia’s screech was loud enough to bring Señor Valdez to the top of the stairs.

I held up my hands and tilted my head toward the man who’d be removing Marta. “We’re fine. I’m just packing.”

“They what?” Mia’s voice lowered to a furious whisper.