“Right,” I agreed. “No time at all.” If someone didn’t push us down a flight of stairs or hit us in the head with a hammer first.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Before he got in the car to go to the airport, Graf kissed me passionately. When I was weak-kneed, he put his lips beside my ear and whispered softly, “I’m not buying this whole stomach virus story or that you slipped in the bathroom and hit your head. You’re up to something.”
I started to pull away, but he held me closer. “I’m your lover who won’t blow your cover, but you have to promise me you won’t get hurt.” His lips moved along my neck. “I might die if something happened to you.”
“I’ll play it safe. As soon as Chablis can safely travel, I’ll be on my way to Hollywood. Tinkie has to stay, and she doesn’t want to give up yet.” I leaned against him as I spoke, already missing him.
His answer was another long, searing kiss, and then he got in the car. “I’ll call to check on you as soon as we’re on the ground. If you don’t answer, I’ll have police swarming over this place.”
I nodded and turned to Federico and Jovan, who were openly examining the bandage that Tinkie had plastered to my forehead. Or maybe it was the makeup job that she’d done to give me a “virusy” look. My skin tone was slightly green and bilious.
Jovan stepped closer to me. “Come with us, Sarah Booth. You can’t stay in this house. It’s dangerous.”
I was touched that she cared. “I’m going to the emergency room,” I told her. “I’m too sick to stay here. I think I’m dehydrated, and my fever is high. If they don’t keep me, Tinkie and I will get a hotel room. As soon as I can travel without throwing up, we’re out of here.”
Relief touched her features. “Thank goodness. Anything can happen in this place. I think the house is damned. You’re already weak, and someone could really hurt you.”
Tinkie had walked up and overheard her comments. “Once Sarah Booth is feeling better, she’ll be on the next plane home,” Tinkie said. “I’ll stay with her until then. She’ll be fine.”
“What about the dogs?” Jovan asked. She rumpled Sweetie Pie’s ears. “They could be hurt again.”
“We’ll take them to the vet clinic.” Tinkie picked up one of Jovan’s suitcases and started toward the waiting car. “Federico can’t miss this flight.”
“I know.” Jovan hugged me. “It’s so hard to find a real friend in Hollywood, Sarah Booth. I’ll see you soon.”
When they were gone, I whipped off the bathrobe and revealed my jean shorts and a T-shirt. My running shoes were behind the door. All I had to do was wash the makeup off my face.
“Where to first?” I asked.
“I think Senor Lopez hasn’t told us the entire truth.” Tinkie had a look in her eyes that made me shiver. One thing about Tink-she took it personally when someone played her.
When we were in the car, the dogs riding in the backseat happy as clams, Tinkie glanced at me. “I should handle this alone.”
“I’m fine. I’m not really sick. It was all an act.”
Tinkie flipped the passenger visor down so that I was staring at myself. My face was puffy and the bandage made me look like an ax murder victim. Even without the makeup, I looked bad.
“I can take the bandage off. That’ll help.” I peeled the tape free, looked, and slapped it back into place. “Maybe not.” Tinkie had really clocked me. The lump looked like a misplaced horn.
“Stay in the car,” she said as she parked. “I’ll be back.”
“What if he gets aggressive?”
“He’s, like, sixty-five.”
“Remember Virgie?” Virgie Carrington was an older woman who ran a finishing school for girls who also happened to be a serial killer. She’d almost snuffed both Tinkie and me, not to mention Sweetie Pie. She’d shot Coleman and drugged Oscar. All in all, she was pretty spry for a senior citizen.
“Senor Lopez isn’t dangerous, but I am.” She slammed the door. “Stay still. If someone sees you they might think the virus in 28 Days Later has infected Petaluma. Somehow, I get the sense that reanimated dead aren’t part of the Costa Rica tourist scene.”
Likening me to a slobbering, jittery zombie was a low blow, but I leaned back in the seat and let the cool breeze slip over my face. If Tinkie wasn’t out in twenty minutes, I’d ride to the rescue.
When the allotted time had come and gone, I ambled into the small office. I could hear Tinkie, her voice raised. The reception desk was empty, so I knocked on the partially open door of Lopez’s private office and stepped inside.
My appearance obviously hadn’t improved in the half hour Tinkie was gone. Lopez glared at me. “Who are you and what happened to you?”
I pointed at Tinkie. “She nearly killed me with her stiletto heel.” I mimed the action. “She’s small, but she’s deadly.”
Lopez dismissed me with a glance. “If you want to know more about the Marquez house, you’d better get a court order.” His smile was foxy. “Or perhaps you should talk to Senor Estoban Gonzalez.”
Tinkie’s mouth dropped, and so did mine. And Tinkie thought zombies weren’t part of the Petaluma scene. “He’s dead,” I pointed out.
“No, senorita, he’s very much alive.”
“And no one bothered to tell us this, why?” Tinkie asked, her voice tight with fury.
“You never asked.” Senor Lopez rendered a perfect Latin shrug. “You asked for blueprints of the house. I gave them to you without a fuss.”
“Not the complete blueprints,” Tinkie pointed out. “There are other secrets in that house.”
“Why didn’t Federico tell us that his father-in-law was alive?” I asked, thinking aloud.
Lopez glared at me. “Perhaps because he carries the burden of his wife’s death on his head.” He sat back in his desk chair as if he’d resolved everything. “If you want more information, you’ll have to speak with Senor Gonzalez. I’ve told you all that I’m authorized to tell.”
“Where is Senor Estoban Gonzalez?” I asked.
“He lives mostly out of the country now. In Venezuela. But he maintains a home here.” Lopez scribbled an address on a slip of paper and handed it to Tinkie.
“Call him and tell him we’re on the way,” I said.
“I’m not going to disturb Senor Gonzalez. I’m going to call the police,” Lopez threatened.
“Call them,” I said. “Do it fast, because I think you’re involved as an accessory in a series of serious assaults.”
My words were as effective as a lip zipper.
“Let’s go,” Tinkie said. “Before the stink in this office rubs off on us.”
As we were leaving, I heard him scrabbling for the phone and dialing. Senor Gonzalez would be waiting for us.
The day was warm and pleasant, and we left Sweetie and Chablis in the car once we found the Gonzalez address in the heart of Petaluma. We rolled the windows down and parked in the shade of a lush tree. The pups would be fine for half an hour.
The house, which occupied almost a city block, was surrounded by a high, stucco wall painted a lovely pale cardamom. Tropical vines climbed the exterior and vibrant blossoms gathered in clusters. I knocked at a solid wooden gate.
“Sarah Booth, you look awful. You really should stay with the dogs,” Tinkie said.
“Not on your life.” I wasn’t at my best, but I had no idea what Tinkie would confront with Estoban Gonzalez. I wanted to be backup in case he was as nutty as the rest of his family.
The gate was opened by a middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform. She ushered us into a shaded patio and through the front door of a lovely Spanish-style home.
The house, filled with a beautiful golden light, was completely silent. Our footsteps echoed on the tiles, as if we’d stepped into a place where time and sound were self-contained.