We joked and teased our way through the meal. I would be a liar if I didn’t admit it was pleasant. She wore a simple beige suit that didn’t hide all of her figure and a silly little matching hat on top of her dark brown hair. Her green eyes flashed with animation across the table from me. She was a stunning dinner companion.
Over coffee, she grew silent. “You look tired,” she said.
“Long drive.”
“Is that all? You have a hard life.”
I inclined my head toward our sumptious surroundings. “Not too hard.”
“You know what I mean. You deserve better.”
I forced a chuckle. “Maybe I’m getting what I earn.”
“That may be right...”
A group of mariachis moved near the table and I didn’t hear the finish of her sentence and, when they left, she didn’t bother to repeat it.
The next day, Bet got another jump on us and was in bed drunk-sick by noon. Louise and I went to the races where she demonstrated near clairvoyance by picking winners. We had dinner again in the same place, but the conversation remained bantering. A couple of times, though, I caught her watching me with a quietly speculative smile on her lips.
By getting up exceptionally early, we got Bet in the car before she could become incapacitated. We wound our way along the Mexican side of the border and turned south to Guaymas. Bet had dinner with us that night in a sodden and sullen mood. It was quite a contrast.
We left her sleeping off the evening potables the next morning and Louise and I went fishing. Louise was, as usual, superb. She fought a fish fully as big as she was to utter defeat. We returned to the hotel exhausted and sun-burned.
It was hardly the best shape for facing what I had to face — a cold sober Bet. She was waiting for me, grim-faced and predatory.
“How was the fishing?” she asked with a glint in her eye that I didn’t catch.
“Great. Louise hooked onto one big enough to eat her.”
“Did it?”
Then I understood the look in her eyes. I sat down and started taking off my shoes. “No, it didn’t.”
“But it could happen, couldn’t it?”
“I suppose it could.” I lay back on the bed and shut my eyes.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “This is a good place for it to happen.”
“No.”
“Why not? A fishing accident. She gets pulled over the side. Sharks. Or something.”
“Not in Mexico. It would be too messy. That many more people, authorities, checking into it.”
She eased her bulk onto the bed beside me. “What difference does that make. It could just happen. Take a couple of bottles, get the crew drunk, and push her over.”
“Bet, it isn’t that simple. She’s a strong swimmer. I’d have to hit her over the head or something. Then when we brought the body back how would we explain it?”
“She hits it on the side of the boat.”
“And what was I doing? Just watching? Why didn’t I get her out.”
“You didn’t see.”
“Come off it, Bet. It’s too messy. Why make things tough?”
She sat silent for several seconds. I could hear her steady breath and wished for the end to the episode. Finally she said, “You’re not going to do it, are you?”
I sat up and looked at her. She looked kind of pitiful, so gross and so alone.
I sighed. “Yes. Yes, I am. You’ve convinced me. It’s the best thing to do, so don’t start in on me again. But, not in Mexico. In my own way and in my own place.”
“You don’t act like...”
“I don’t have to like it do I?”
“I guess not. But, it’s got to be done,” she added with determination.
I nodded and went into the shower.
We all had dinner together. It was an amazing experience. Bet was in top form, joking and chiding her mother, very urbane and witty. Somehow, it was slightly heartless.
I felt better when I decided to leave Guaymas the next day. I had wanted to fish another day, but the thought of a sobered Bet who might go along and heave Louise overboard was more than I cared to face. Worse yet, a drunk Bet doing the heaving.
We got to Mazatlan late in the evening and I slept in the next morning. Both of the women were gone when I awoke. I found Bet well along in the bar. She said Louise had gone down to the beach. Only she said beesh. It reassured me. The pressure was off, at least for a while.
I had a surprisingly good lunch — my breakfast — in the dining room. It was an old and quaint hotel, one Louise had picked because she spent her honeymoon there. It had been modernized, but still had great charm. It also had the nicest beach on that part of the coast.
I set out for it hoping to find Louise. I did. In spades. She was wearing a bikini made of red material with large white polka-dots. On someone else, someone lacking the grace to wear it, it would have been vulgar. On Louise it was stunning.
We had a gay afternoon on the beach. Building sand castles, swimming. Her version of water games went further than usual.
When the sun lowered in the sky and the beach chilled, she led me by the hand back to the hotel. We found Bet snoring in the room and Louise led me on to hers.
When the door shut behind us she stepped into my arms with a throaty laugh. “Umnh. This feels good. I’m cold,” she said.
Her hand guided mine to the little string tie that held the top of the bikini on. I pulled it and she remained close to my body letting the pressure hold it up. Then she guided my hand to the other tie on the hip. When I pulled it she stepped back. The two wisps of cloth fell to the floor.
She raised up on her toes in front of me. “Not bad for a forty-four year old woman?” The corners of her lips turned into a smile.
I could hardly breathe and my reply came out a loud gulp.
She turned and walked away from me. Halfway to the bathroom she looked over her shoulder. “I thought you would like it,” she said. She made a long, noisy business of locking the bathroom door.
All I could think as I left her room was she deserved it. It would be a pleasure to kill her. The little bitch had it coming... and from me. I hoped I could make it slow.
I went into town and had a couple of drinks. Then I met this Texan. He managed to convince me it was a matter of national honor to show the Mexicans how to drink tequila. It seemed important to salvage someone’s honor that night.
Backscratchers he called them. A straight shot of tequila followed by a squirt from a wedge of lime and a lick of salt from the back of your hand. It also seemed the ideal kind of bottled courage I needed. Each shot added a fresh charge of determination. They burned going down — annealing the cherry-glow of indignation in me.
I had too many before I realized it was the wrong name. Back-breaker would be more like it. Or spirit breaker. My determination faded to nauseous mush. I put down two more quick ones to try and bring it back before the stuff exploded inside me. My back and my guts shattered to a writhing mass of slime-colored goo. I barely managed to get back to the hotel.
The next morning I was trying to negotiate a glass of warm milk into my stomach when Louise found me. She was wearing a bright red beach robe open in the front to show the matching bikini. It was still a powerful sight. Almost enough to make me forget my desire to kill her.
She sat down and smiled at me. “Mad?”
I shook my head. “Too sick.” Not exactly a lie.
“My fault?”
I wouldn’t give her the pleasure.
“No. Bet and I hung on a small one.”
She arched her eyebrows and pursed her lips. “Come on, lets go to the beach.”
I shook my head.
“Come on. I’ve got your suit. You can change in a cabana. I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”
“About yesterday?”
She nodded.
I fought — with success — against her obvious appeal. With a half-formed plan, I let myself be led out. She waved to Bet slumped on a stool in the bar as we went out.