Take the Money: Romantic Suspense in Costa Rica (11 page)

  At last she saw a large building at the end of a long runway. “That looks like a place to land,” she said, hoping he’d take advantage of a chance to get on the ground.

“It’s the airport,” he said, “but we’ll have to go on, it’s starting to rain too hard.”  Pellets of hail bounced off the wings as he nosed back up into the sky.

“Go where?”

“I’ll have to drive out of the storm.  There’s a village we passed, we’ll go there.”

“Couldn’t we go back to San Jose?” 

“No, we have to land soon.  We’re low on fuel.”

  Again, Julie studied the man for signs of stress, but he almost seemed to be enjoying this flurry of excitement. True to his prediction, the skies cleared as they approached an open-air hut at the end of a landing strip. He began his descent, but a cow moseyed out into their path. Abruptly he turned the plane upward, finally showing some emotion as he exclaimed, “
Ay
,
Caramba!”

“Now what?”

“
Un momento.”
  He threw back his head as he circled the landing strip.

Several men ran to the runway, grabbed the cow, and waved. The pilot began his descent once again, and this time they made it to the ground.  “You may as well get out,” he said.  “We may be here for awhile.”

Julie legs were rubbery as the pilot helped her disembark. “I’ll never get on that plane again,” she said to herself. She vomited into some bushes and groped for a large leaf to wipe her chin.  Within moments, she felt better.

“I’m sorry if you were frightened.”  The pilot turned to look at her with dark absorbing eyes as if seeing her for the first time.  She realized that all of his concentration had been focused on piloting the plane and bringing them to safety.  He wasn’t quite so cavalier as he pretended to be. 

“You mean you weren’t worried?”

He shrugged in feigned indifference, damp tendrils of dark hair falling across his forehead. “It was just a little storm.  But it’s getting late now, and the rain is moving this way.  It will be fine tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?  What do we do tonight?”

A group of men and boys ran toward them now, probably excited with the novelty of a plane coming to their village.

“Tonight we stay here in Santa Clara,” he said.

“Here in Santa Clara? Overnight?” Julie stopped walking and looked around for signs of civilization.  All she could see were some cows grazing in a ragged pasture that seemed to offer little in the way of bovine nourishment. Ahead was a wilderness of towering trees and vines. 

The pilot looked apologetic.  “I hope it’s not too great an inconvenience?”

“No, I’m just surprised you can decide this without checking with someone back in San Jose.”

“It’s no problem, I’ll give them a call.  This is the last flight of the day. My name is Juan Guzman, by the way.”

“But where will we stay?”  Julie tried to act as though it mattered, even though she was ecstatic about such a propitious turn of events.  No one would dream of looking for her in such a remote area. Kevin’s killer would never find her here.

“Don’t worry, there’s a clinic here.  The doctor stationed there is a friend of mine.  There are clean beds, food, you’ll be fine.  Also, many of the villagers produce pottery.  You may find it interesting.”

And safe.
  She smiled and said, “my name is Julie Lawson.”

* * *

They walked down a dirt road and entered a forest.  The air was heavy with the smell of ozone, but the rain had not come yet, and there was only the gentle swish of leaves in the wind. They followed a narrow path through a maze of trees with tall slender trunks and leafy plumes that feathered high across the sky, forming a protective canopy above fledgling trees, giant ferns and mysterious oversized plants.   Monkeys scampered along tree limbs, and butterflies paused to spread their brilliantly colored wings. There was a cathedral-like feeling of reverence as they trudged silently through the forest, listening only to trill of birds and the whispering of a brook.  Within a few minutes they entered a clearing.

A cluster of small houses, mostly cinder block or zinc--or a combination of the two--formed a small village.  Barefoot children came running to greet them, while the men and women hung back and merely stared.  From their flat cheekbones, full lips, slanting eyes and straight black hair, Julie concluded they were not Spanish, but the descendants of the original inhabitants of Costa Rica, even though they wore colored shirts and modern dresses. “You’re seeing some of the true natives of our land,” the pilot said.  “These Indians date back at least 4,000 years.”

“So how do they survive?”

“Many of them work on the ranches now.  Things were better when the Peace Corps was here.”

“The Peace Corps?  What did they have to do here?”

“The people were living in extreme poverty. Economic development was needed. The volunteers encouraged the people to develop their pottery making skills. They helped them organize and streamline their work and market it throughout the country.”

Everywhere, Julie saw stacks of ceramic jugs, ocarinas, bowls, cups and dishes painted in bright colors and decorated with intricate designs. And yet, the houses had no glass in the windows, looked dirty and crowded.  “But they still seem poor.”

He sighed. “Yes, many of them are.  When the last volunteer left, they went back to their old ways of working independently instead of together.” They were coming to a small white building surrounded by a long queue of women, children and old people.

“What’s this?  A doctor’s office?”  Julie asked.

“It’s the clinic where the government provides free medical care.  Unfortunately, there is only one overworked doctor, a couple of assistants, and a scarcity of drugs and medicines.”

“The doctor is your friend?”

“Yes, we went to school together in San Jose.”

“Why in the world would he get stuck in a place like this to practice medicine?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Well, obviously, it’s not a great place for an educated young doctor to prosper.  I’d think his family would want to live in the city.”

“He has no immediate family.  His wife and son were killed in a car accident in the mountains.”

At the mention of a fatal car accident, a memory seeped into Julie’s consciousness.  Kevin’s icy hands; sticky blood between her fingers; the winter sky exploding with orange light.  A month ago, she couldn’t have imagined such horror, but now it was all too real.  “How terrible,” was all she could say, not wanting to relive those moments by bringing up her own experience with such devastating tragedy.

They walked into the clinic where every chair was filled with tired young women holding almond eyed babies with feverish pink cheeks.  Surrounding the mothers were small children with dirty faces and ragged clothes who nevertheless seemed happy and playful.

The air in the dark waiting room was heavy with medicinal smells and the musty odors of sickness.  At the end of a narrow gloomy hallway, they came to a small room where a physician was talking to a patient.  Julie was surprised that the door was open and feared the doctor would be upset at their unannounced entry, but as he looked up, his heavy lidded brown eyes filled with light. 

“Juan!” he cried out.  “
Que pasa
?”

The doctor’s tawny skin had the even-colored look of man who spent his daylight hours within the shadowy confines of four walls. Taller than his friend Juan by a head, he was thin--almost gaunt, his Adam’s apple moving up and down his neck above the open collar of his white lab coat.  His black straight hair was feathered at the sides with gray, but it seemed premature since the creases around his eyes only formed when he smiled. As they drew closer, Julie was aware of intensity about the man--an aura of light and sweetness.  He rested his long-lashed eyes on her a moment longer than necessary, filling her with a strange longing.  

Juan broke the spell and began speaking rapidly about how they’d run into a storm and needed to refuel.

“Good.  You’ll stay here tonight?” The doctor’s eagerness for company was almost pathetic.

“If it’s all right. My passenger here will need a room. In fact, she’s feeling airsick and probably could use some rest.  Julie, this is Dr. Rojas.”

The doctor said, “Please call me Enrique, and you’re welcome to the stay in the patient room at the back.  But what about you, Juan?”

“I can stay at the hotel.”

“Hotel?”  Julie’s ears perked up. “I could stay there, too couldn’t I?  Instead of inconveniencing the doctor?”

The two men looked at each other, then back at her.  “It would be safer here at the clinic,” Juan said.  “It’s guarded all night, and the doctor is here, too.”

“But isn’t the hotel protected?”

Enrique looked serious. “Just take his word for it.  Now, Juan, if you’ll show the young lady her room, we’ll plan to meet at La Casita for dinner about seven.”

“I still think I should stay at the hotel,” Julie protested, as Juan showed her a small, neat room with a tile floor and a narrow bed covered with a white blanket.  The only window was high and heavily barred.

Juan spoke with urgency. “I don’t mean to frighten you, but some American girls were murdered on the beach up at Liberia last week.”

“Murdered?  I thought the only thing you had to worry about in this country was theft.”

“Ordinarily, it is.  But these murders have everyone worried.  There’s a lot of anti-American feeling lately.”

“Why?  What’s happened?”

“Coffee prices are down in the US, meaning high unemployment here. There’s a feeling that American investors are helping to keep wages low, and then there are the American tourists.”

“You mean they’re loud and obnoxious and have a superior attitude?”  Julie had seen some of them barking orders at the waiters and waitresses at the Cariari and in the stores downtown. 

“They arouse resentment and jealousy. Then too, the people feel our government is becoming too much like yours, too capitalistic.”

“But this village seems serene and everyone smiled at us.”

“That’s because they know me here. Now, get some rest and I’ll stop by later so that we can have dinner.”

“Right now, food doesn’t seem very appealing.”  Julie’s stomach was still sore from heaving.

“True.  But you’ll be surprised how much better you feel in a few hours.  La Casita is a charming little place overlooking a lake.  I’m sure you’ll be pleased.”

Julie was too tired to argue.  An attendant brought her a glass of tangy golden fruit juice which she drank quickly, then stretched out on the narrow bed while the sound of children’s laughter lulled her to sleep.  When she awakened, dusk had darkened her room and the white walls reflected the pinks and purples and oranges of the sunset.

Across the hall was a small bathroom with a hand sink and strong-smelling soap which she used liberally, even to shampoo her hair.  Anything was better than reeking of vomit.  A light bulb dangling from a wire in the ceiling provided a dim light over a pockmarked mirror where Julie could see to run a comb through her hair.  She was still wearing the same T shirt and shorts she’d had on all day, and she had forgotten to bring extra underwear. She washed her panties and bra, hung them near the window to dry, and changed into the black silk blouse and short black shirt which she had remembered to bring. Hopefully, it would be dark enough that the men would not realize she wasn’t wearing underwear. At the last minute, she removed the circles of gold she usually wore in her pierced ears and replaced them with some silvery dangles she’d bought from a Nicaraguan street vendor.

The restaurant was a small wooden building nestled amongst tall trees, tropical plants, and flowering shrubs. A torch lit the entryway.  Inside, candles glowed at tables arranged with small vases of fragrant flowers.  Near a large picture window overlooking a small, shimmering lake, a dark-skinned man strummed on a guitar and a woman next to him crooned softly, her black hair cascading to her shoulders.

Away from the clinic, Julie could see that Dr. Rojas possessed a certain urbanity.  His manners were polished as he seated her and gravely ordered for them without glancing at the chalkboard menu. There was about him a lithe gracefulness that suggested gentlemanly pursuits like tennis or golf.  She was surprised when he lit a dark thin cigarette and inhaled deeply, sending long curls of smoke twirling across the room.

She ordered bottled water to soothe her still cramped stomach but the men had bottles of beer that arrived accompanied by small plates of cerviche and fried plantains.  Dinner was beans, rice and chicken.  A delicate custard was served next, along with steaming cups of strong coffee.

They talked of the weather and how flooding had come to the valley, bringing more sickness.

“You’d think,” Julie said, “that everyone would enjoy perfect health in this beautiful climate where it never gets cold.”

“If only that were true,” Enrique sighed.  “But nothing seems to go right.  The dry, dusty roads cause respiratory problems.  Then, when it floods, other diseases plague us. If everyone could afford shoes, it would help.”

“What do shoes have to do with it?”