26
They chose an outdoor cafe called Taqueria Tapatia, an oblong open-air enclosure that ran the length of the sidewalk, the chef’s station smack in the middle of half a dozen tables.
Jen, being Jen, became immediately enamored with the chef, a curly-haired twentysomething hunk with a nice body and an even nicer smile. But to her credit, she kept it low-key, in an effort, Beth supposed, to avoid upsetting the prude. And Beth suddenly felt guilty for always trying to suppress what came naturally to Jen.
Why couldn’t she just accept her sister for who she was?
“I’m thinking about going back to school,” Jen said as their waitress set their taco plates in front of them.
Beth was surprised. “Since when?”
Jen took a bite of taco, then took a moment to chew and swallow. “I know this’ll sound like bs, but you’re not the only one who’s jealous. A lot of times I look at you, look at what you’ve accomplished, and I think, What the hell? Why am I such a loser?”
“You’re not a loser.”
“What else do you call it, then? I’ve spent the last decade bouncing from guy to guy, job to job, party to party and I’ve got nothing to show for it but a failed marriage, an empty bank account, and a constant hangover.”
Beth had to admit she had a point.
“It could be worse,” she said. “You could be crippled. Or blind.”
Jen laughed and shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. No direction, no ambition. And I can only blame so much of it on Mom and Dad.” She paused, took another bite of taco. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but last night kinda opened my eyes.”
Beth stiffened. “Meaning?”
“Marta and I spent a lot of time talking about things I don’t usually bother thinking about. It might be hard to believe, but she and Rafael are very spiritual people.”
“If you consider witchcraft and phony psychics spiritual, sure.”
Jen shook her head. “I really wish you could be a little more open-minded. Some people believe there’s a man in the sky watching over us. Does that make them con artists?”
“Not all of them. No.”
Beth wasn’t the most religious person in the world, but she did believe in God. A belief that was based on gut, not intellect. But she also knew that there was no shortage of people in this world who would try to exploit that belief.
“Despite what you think of her,” Jen said, “Marta really believes the things she talks about.”
“Like what?”
“Like the power of the dead, for one. She says they’re always among us, ready to guide us, counsel us when we ask for help. And I know this’ll sound stupid, but when she told me that, it was the first time I’ve actually felt like there might be some hope for me after all. Like maybe since they died, Mom and Dad have been watching over us. Maybe it’s time for me to stop disappointing them.”
“Is that Marta talking, or you?”
Jen frowned. “I do have a brain, you know. I can think for myself.”
She went inward for a moment, seemed to be struggling with a thought.
Then she said, “I cried like a baby last night. Right there in their stateroom.”
“What happened?”
“Marta and I were talking and all of a sudden I started crying. It just came over me.”
Beth nodded. “You were in over your head with those two. Finally realized you’d gone too far.”
“No,” Jen said, looking annoyed. “That’s not it at all.”
“Then what?”
“I already told you, Rafael and Marta made me feel special. Wanted. Like this was much more than some random hookup. It felt like they’d both somehow managed to channel my thoughts and feelings and were speaking to me in a language only I could understand.”
“Was this before or after you all took Ecstasy?”
Jen’s eyes hardened. “It wasn’t the drugs, Beth. Or the booze. Besides, I’m done with all that stuff. As sappy as it sounds, I started crying because I felt…I don’t know… loved. Unconditionally. By two people who barely even know me.”
Beth bit her tongue. Her immediate instinct was to dismiss Jen’s talk as nonsense, to explain that that was exactly what Ecstasy, or MDMA, did to you-something Jen should well know. But there was a sincerity in her voice that couldn’t be ignored. She was vulnerable. And hurting. And Beth knew that, in many ways, and for many years, she had contributed to that hurt, just as Jen had contributed to hers.
But none of this changed her opinion of the Santiagos. The more she heard about them, the less she trusted them. And if they were taking advantage of Jen’s vulnerability, she might just have to kick their perfect little asses.
“So this is what got you thinking about the direction of your life? About going to school?”
“Partly,” Jen said. “But there’s something else I’ve been wanting to tell you. Something…”
Jen paused, looking anguished. Guilty.
“What?” Beth asked. “What’s wrong?”
Jen thought a moment, then shook her head. “We’ll talk about it later. And this whole school thing is just an idea. I’m not really sure what I want.”
“That’s true for about ninety percent of the people who walk this planet. Even the dead ones.”
Jen frowned again. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No,” Beth said, immediately regretting her words. “Just a joke. And a bad one at that.”
Jen sighed. “You’re never going to take me seriously, are you?”
“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a stupid-”
“I’ve gotta pee,” Jen said abruptly, then threw her napkin on the table and turned to the waitress, whose command of English was halting at best. Fortunately, they’d been able to point to their choices on the menu. “? Adonde esta el bano?”
Phrase number two.
“Disculpa, esta fuera de servicio,” the waitress said, then gestured to a leather-goods shop across the street. “Puedes usar el que esta al otro lado de la calle.”
Jen pushed her chair back and stood. “I hope that means they have a toilet.”
“Jen, wait-”
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna go mental on you. I just can’t hold it anymore.”
Then she crossed the street and disappeared into the leather-goods shop without a backward glance.
And that was the last time Beth saw her.
27
Nobody could ever accuse Vargas of being smart.
The smart thing to do would be to go back to the motel office, ask to use the phone (his cell had been stolen along with his car keys), and call Agent Harmon.
The problem with this idea was that Harmon already thought Vargas was a drug-addicted, attention- mongering crackpot and the presence of his car in the Western Suites parking lot would more than likely bolster that opinion.
