Paper Moon (27 page)

John grimaced. “I have no doubt.” He hung up the telephone.

“Well?”

“There's a plant in the tour group, watching us. We need to pull the item and secret it away until the heat blows over,” John explained to his friend.

“So we are not in trouble?” Javier looked relieved.

John exhaled, as though to rid himself of worry, but it still felt as if a cinder block lay wedged in his chest. “No, not yet.”

He gave his buddy a friendly clap on the arm. “Piece of cake,
hermano,”
he declared, not nearly as certain as he wished. “Piece of cake.”

“Speaking of cake—” Javier handed him the glass of water. “I could scarf up some pizza. How about you?”

John downed the aspirin, refusing to let the picture his friend conjured take shape in his mind. Aspirin was bad enough going down, much less the opposite.

CHAPTER
20

Shades of brilliant pinks, oranges, and yellows colored the western horizon when they arrived at La Perla. The restaurant was located in the Mirador, a hotel that cascaded, terrace by terrace, down a steep hillside directly across from the famous cliffs of Quebrada. On the way over, Hector explained how the divers trained from childhood, sons following in their fathers' footsteps.

“Pay special attention to the water below before the sun sets,”

Hector advised them. “The tide at the foot of the cliff rushes in with such force that it can fluctuate anywhere from eight or so feet to sixty in depth with each wave. This makes the timing of the dives critical.”

A wry smile played on Caroline's lips. Like as not, it was one of those sixty-footers that had taken everyone by surprise on the beach that afternoon. In the end, it proved advantageous. For the first time on the trip, she had uninterrupted time to do her hair and dress. If she did say so herself, she looked and felt as elegant and sophisticated in her flowing wash-and-wear pantsuit as the sequin-sheathed and statuesque woman climbing out of a black limousine at the hotel entrance. Caroline even had a sequin or two at the center of the pale pink and white flowers on her shawl jacket.

After Blaine purchased and pinned a fresh hibiscus from the lobby flower shop on her lapel, Caroline mimicked a model spin.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she proffered, not caring that the entire Edenton group watched. How could they miss the fireworks going off in her heart?

“Mom,” Annie said from somewhere in another dimension, “what is that lump on the back of your slacks?”

Lump?
Disconcerted, Caroline glanced over her shoulder at her calf. Just below the bend in her knee, the soft material of her slacks clung to a fistful of something.

“There is something there,” Blaine observed, bemused.

What? A pair of panties from laundry day past? Caroline stared at the lump as if to make it disappear. If she retreated to the ladies room, would the culprit shake out? Or maybe she should just give the onlookers an early show and dive off the balcony into an eight-foot swell.

Vexed, Annie dropped to her knees and ran her hand up Caroline's pant leg.

“Got it,” her daughter announced, producing a dryer-shriveled pair of pantyhose with the flourish of a magician.

“Way to go, Miz C!” Kurt's clap led to a round of general applause.

Caroline couldn't decide which youngster she wanted to strangle with hose the most—the boy or Annie. “Never let it be said that I'm not prepared.” She tried tucking the stowaway into a tiny evening bag that barely held a folding brush, lipstick, and tissues until Blaine came to her rescue.

“Allow me, Cinderella,” he teased, tucking the wad of stocking into his coat pocket.

“What can I say?” she remarked as the headwaiter motioned for them to follow him. “It stores better than a glass slipper.”

It boggled her mind that a man like Blaine Madison didn't run with all speed in the opposite direction instead of beating the maître d' to Caroline's chair.

“Milady.”

Her dignity somewhat restored, Caroline allowed him to seat her at a table for six, located at the balcony rail overlooking the cliffs.

“This is
so
cool,” Annie observed as a busboy hastily removed the extra settings. She wasn't talking about the boy or the breathtaking view of the cliffs or the panoramic spectacle of sunset on the glittering waters of Acapulco Bay. She embraced Blaine and Caroline with her gaze, then turned to her friend. “Did you know your dad was so romantic?”

Karen shrugged. “I never thought about it.” She studied her father as though seeing him for the first time. “He's not bad for an older man, I guess.”

Blaine winced. “Thanks . . . I think.”

“What do you think, Miz C?” Karen was serious. No smile tugged at her mouth. Her dark eyes searched Caroline's face, expectant.

Nothing like being put on the spot.

“I think that is between Caroline and me,” Blaine interceded.

Relief washed over her. “Exactly.” She cast a grateful glance in his direction before mischief gained rein. “So far, he's scored a ten on the Prince Charming scale, but beyond that—” She paused, grinning, as the girls moved forward on their seats in anticipation.

“You'll have to stay tuned for the next episode.”

Their anticipation collapsed with a simultaneous groan.

“Bet if it was John and me, you'd want to know all the details,”

Karen grumbled.

“Age has its privileges.” Blaine opened his menu, effectively ending the topic.

The fierce crash of the surf below drew Caroline's attention from the list of foods. They practically had a box seat, affording an unobstructed view of the steep, jagged cliffs where the dives took place. It was incredible that no one in the sixty years of the tradition had ever been killed.

“Would you care to share a Chateaubriand for two?”

For two.
Caroline schooled her face toward thoughtful, rather than grinning in Cheshire cat delight. Two was a lovely number when Blaine was part of it.

“Wow, Dad,” Karen teased. “You even make the food sound romantic.”

“We could order two and make it a family affair if you girls are game,” he suggested.

Annie frowned. “What is it?”

“It's a special cut of beef, with a minced stuffing of onion, celery . . .” Blaine paused. “Herbs and other stuff. Quite delicious.”

“And a welcome break from something with tomato and chiles.”

Caroline closed her menu. “Chateaubriand sounds delightful. You order for me. I think that rogue wave did a literal brainwash on me this afternoon.”

Order for me?
The challenge surfaced amid the other reactions Blaine aroused in her. She'd sworn once that she'd never let a man lead her around like a possession without will or want of her own.

Yet here she was giving the decision away. Except that Blaine
asked
her to share. Frank would have ordered for them without considering her opinion.

Father, Blaine is too perfect. The only fault I've seen is his falling from
faith over the death of his wife . . . and that could happen to anyone. But
for Your grace, it might have happened to me. And he seems to be reaching
for You again. Help me see what is wrong with this picture before I'm
hopelessly lost . . . If there is anything wrong
, she added hopefully.

“Excuse me.” A woman's gruff voice interrupted the hum of indecision over the menu at the table. “Are those two seats taken?”

Drawn from her angst-filled prayer, Caroline glanced at the two empty seats at the end of the table and back to the imposing stranger. “I . . . I don't think so.”

At least six feet tall, with ample frame, the older lady looked as though she could hold her own on a football scrimmage line. She gave them a bright lipsticked smile. “Then would you mind if my sister and I join you?”

Blaine rose. “Absolutely not. The more lovely ladies, the merrier.” He glanced past the tall, broad figure of a woman in search of her companion.

“I'm Eloise Hayman,” she said, extending a ring-bedecked hand. She had one for every finger. “I'll go get my sister. She's in a wheelchair, as she twisted her ankle just before we left on this trip.”

“May I help?” Blaine offered.

The older woman reached over and gave his smooth-shaven cheek a cajoling pinch. “Now aren't you just a prince?” She winked past him at Caroline. “Handsome as one too. If I were a few years younger, you'd have some competition, sweetie.”

“What was
that?”
Karen exclaimed after Eloise led Blaine in the flowing wake of her royal purple knee-length tunic and palazzo trousers.

Caroline laughed. “I guess it's an Eloise Hayman.”

A few minutes later, Blaine wheeled a woman as petite as Eloise was imposing up to the end of the table. It stretched the imagination to consider that the two might have emerged from the same gene pool, but once they were seated and everyone had ordered, the resemblance became obvious. Both had a zeal for life that was infectious.

“We're on a seniors' trip,” Eloise told them, “but Reenie and I went on the booze cruise in the harbor this afternoon and got back too late for the early show with those old fuddy-duddies.” She snorted. “If some of them don't eat early, they get sick, you know.”

“Now, Weesie,” Irene chided. “They can't help it if they have sugar.”

“Maybe so,” her sister said, “but some are just as set in their ways as their arthritic joints, diabetes or no.”

“Eloise was a physical therapist,” Irene informed the group. “A health nut.”

“A life nut, Weesie. There's a difference.”

Hardly having spoken since placing the dinner order, Blaine leaned over with a discreet whisper for Caroline's ear alone. “I think the show has started early.”

Irene Barker was a retired nurse. Since the death of her husband, she and Eloise, who had never married, had traveled with senior groups all over the world.

“Life is too short, girlies,” Eloise told Annie and Karen, who were completely taken by the pair. “A body's got to grab life now, before it gets too old to catch it.”

Caroline could well imagine the thoughts running through their minds. If they thought Blaine was an “older man,” they must think of Eloise and Irene as ancient.

“So how was the booze cruise?” Karen's dark eyes twinkled in anticipation.

“Nice enough, I suppose.”

“If you're a masochist,” Irene added.

Eloise turned to her. “Now, Reenie, you said yourself you thought you'd split your sides laughing. The games and sights were fun.”

Irene jerked an accusing finger toward her sister. “Easy for her to say. She got to salsa with the men. I didn't.” She turned to Karen.

“Frankly, dear, the music was too loud, the company too rowdy, and the swells made the boat lurch from side to side like a carnival ride.”

“All you had to do was turn down your hearing aid, Reenie,”

Eloise pointed out. “She's just put out because she couldn't dance the way she usually does.”

“Well, it is hard being confined to a hard bench seat while everyone else is having fun,” Irene pouted, placing a hand on Caroline's arm. “Honey, I could hold my own on a dance floor with the best of them . . . and will do again, soon as this ankle heals.” Irene's eyes twinkled, bracketed by lines etched with laughter over the years.

“Anyway,” Eloise went on, “we got to see houses of some rich folks like Julio Gladius—”

“Iglesias,” Irene corrected.

“Yeah, him.” Eloise never broke verbal stride. “And the water was gorgeous. Just because it was a booze cruise didn't mean you had to drink, mind you. To each his own, I say, though I don't touch the stuff myself. Makes me sluggish.”

It was hard to imagine anything sluggish about Eloise. Caroline imagined the lady as having one speed—full steam ahead.

And so the conversation continued, never slowing, even when dinner was served. Where one sister left off to munch, the other picked up. They'd been everywhere and tried everything. On the agenda for this trip were parasailing and a day tour to an island beach for horseback riding and fishing.

“Horses!” Annie gave Caroline a pleading look. “Oh, Mom, can we go? I love horses. It's so romantic, riding on the beach.”

“Yeah,” Karen added. “You and my dad couldn't help but fall in love then.”

Eloise cocked her head like a watchdog that picked up a strange sound. “You mean you aren't married?” Her gruff words fell somewhere between accusation and surprise. “But you look so natural together.”

Caroline felt heat rise from the tips of her toes to the hair follicles on the crown of her head.

Irene put a delicate hand to her cheek. “My word, Weesie, we haven't given these dear people a chance to say yea or nay for nothing, save their given names.” She gave Blaine and Caroline an apologetic look. “We get carried away sometimes. Weesie and I do love to talk.”