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“The detective took my passport.”

“Can he do that? Where is this detective?” Mia was a firm believer that power, influence and money could solve any problem. She had plenty of all three.

“He left.”

“With your passport?” Already she was scrolling through her contacts looking for someone who could fix the problem.

“I’m calling Ruth Gardner.”

Mia looked up from her phone. If a named partner at Gardner, Jackson & Bray couldn’t get my passport returned (with an apology and a bottle of Cristal for my trouble) no one could. “Where did this detective go?” she demanded.

“To investigate a murder.”

This time both my friends’ jaws dropped.

André recovered first. “What murder?”

“No idea. I think it happened at the main hotel since the resort manager went with him.”

Mia wheeled on André. “What kind of place did you book her into?”

“It’s not André’s fault.”

Mia glanced at the stairs then whispered, “Do they know about Jake?”

“No. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Eight

We moved into a villa three doors down. Same wall of glass. Same pool. Same chaises on the patio. No dead body.

That part was an improvement.

“In there.” I directed the bellman to the first floor bedroom then held up my phone and turned to face my friends. “I’m going to call the lawyer.”

They both nodded, their expressions grim.

I stepped out on the patio, found the law firm’s number in my contacts, and dialed.

“Gardner, Wilson & Bray,” said a voice in Los Angeles.

“This is Poppy Fields calling for Ruth Gardner.”

“Is Ms. Gardner expecting your call?”

“No,” I replied, sinking onto a sun-drenched chaise. “But I have an emergency.”

“Please hold.”

André and Mia spilled out onto the patio.

“Which room did Marta Vargas die in?” Mia’s gauzy maxi-dress ruffled in the breeze. So did her flowing hair. She looked like a wind sprite or a white witch or Stevie Nicks.

“The one at the top of the stairs.”

“That settles it.” Mia turned her attention to André. “I’m taking the other one.”

“Don’t take any drugs and you should both be fine.”

“She really overdosed?” Mia eased onto the second chaise and stretched out her already perfectly tanned legs.

“Yes.”

“On what?”

“I’m not sure but I’m guessing Venti.”

“Venti? Seriously?”

“The policeman in Los Angeles, Detective Parks, told me how dangerous it is.”

André paled. “People are dying from Venti? That’s supposed to be a party drug.”

“People die from Molly,” I replied.

“Not often.”

I wasn’t up for an argument about the stupidity of ingesting foreign substances with questionable histories so I shrugged. “You know what I know. Please, don’t take any of that stuff, okay?”

“Miss Fields?” the receptionist in Los Angeles had the most professional voice on earth. Its tone said there were many important things to be accomplished.

“I’m here.”

“Ms. Gardner is in a meeting.” Now her voice was apologetic. “May she call you when she’s free?” Ruth Gardner was never free. Our call would cost hundreds of dollars.

“Yes. Do you need my number?”

“Should she call you at the number you’re calling from?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I hung up and dropped the phone in my lap.

“What did they say?” asked Mia.

“Ruth will call me back.”

“You’re on a first name basis with Ruth Gardner?” André wasn’t easily impressed but apparently calling Ruth Gardner by her first name had moved me up a few pegs. His expression was awed.

“The firm handles everything for Chariss.”

Mia yawned. “They handle everything for my dad too but we’re not on a first-name basis.”

“When Dad disappeared, they took care of things.” I looked out at the waves, avoiding my friends’ gazes. “And, two years ago, when Chariss had Dad declared dead—” against my wishes “—we spent a lot of time together.”

“I think they sued my father. Does that count?” André’s father’s epic flop had left so many people in cover-your-ass mode. There had been law suits. Lots of them. And André had gone from being the most popular guy in school to a pariah only fit to be friends with the new girls—namely Mia and me. He pulled a chair out from under the pergola and angled it toward the sun. “So, what happened yesterday?”

I told them about the scene at the pool. I told them about the party. I told them about Javier.

“I can’t believe there’s a drug lord staying here.” Mia’s whisper was raspy and she glanced over her shoulder as if she expected to see a sicario. “Didn’t you vet this place at all?” The second question she directed to André.

“Of course I did.”

“Hmpph.” She wasn’t buying it.

“It’s not like André can control who else stays here.”

“Thank you, Poppy.” André offered me the sweetest of smiles then shifted his gaze to Mia. “If there’s a super-villain on the property, maybe there’s a James Bond type here, too.” André knew Mia had a killer crush on Daniel Craig.

“You think?” Mia sounded marginally less miffed.

“Anything’s possible.” What were the odds of me finding two bodies? Those odds had to be astronomical but I’d still found them.

We sat in silence—pondering possibilities—for three whole minutes before Mia said, “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

I pictured Marta’s sightless eyes and shook my head.

“I could eat,” said André.

“You can always eat. It’s not fair.” Mia stuck her out her tongue. She didn’t have much room to talk. She was the approximate size of a toothpick.

“It’s not my fault I’ve got an awesome metabolism.” If André ever got tired of being an agent to the newly famous he could model. He might even make more money.

“I need to stay here for my call.” I pointed at the phone. “There’s an al fresco café up at the hotel.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not leaving you.” Mia shielded her face from the sun with her forearm. “We’ll call for room service.”

Mia wandered inside and picked up the land-line. She ordered a breaded chicken breast stuffed with goat cheese and mushrooms topped with chipotle cream.

She stood in the doorway and waved at us. “What do you want?”

“Ceviche, please.” André planted a hand on his hip. “I swear, lately every calorie I eat is worth ten.” Our cue to tell him how amazing he looked.

Instead, Mia rolled her eyes. “You already told us about your metabolism—we know you’re fishing for compliments, and frankly, your head shouldn’t get any bigger.” She shifted her gaze my way. “What do you want?” Her tone made it clear she expected me to eat.

André pursed his lips. “You should eat something.”

Two against one. I ceded. “Maybe grilled shrimp.”

With a satisfied nod, Mia ordered the ceviche and the shrimp then reclaimed her chaise.

“So, what’s the plan?” André stared out at the ocean. “Are we out of here as soon as you get your passport back?”

“Let’s see how quickly that happens.” Even with Gardner, Wilson & Bray on my side, my hopes for leaving in the next day or so weren’t high.

“I want to hear about those mysterious texts,” said Mia.

André turned his gaze from the ocean to me and his brows rose. “What mysterious texts?”

With Marta’s death, I’d forgotten all about the texts. I handed Mia my phone and she read the stream. “Jake?”

“Long story.” Or wishful thinking. “I thought I saw him last night.”

Mia got up off her chaise, joined me on mine, and hugged me. “I didn’t realize what a hard time you were having with this.”

A lump lodged itself in my throat.

“I know we’re stuck here and that’s not exactly ideal but I’m going to cheer you up.” She squeezed my shoulders. “I promise.”

I didn’t argue but I had my doubts.

Brnng, brnng.

Our heads swiveled toward the villa and I rose.

Brnng, brnng.

I hurried inside and grabbed the receiver. “Hello.”

“Miss Fields?”

“Yes.”

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