Songs for Perri (8 page)

The crowd had left and the room was fairly empty. A local youth near the entrance seemed to be taking stock of her. As soon as she looked at him though, he shifted uncomfortably and walked away.

At that moment, she spied the clean-cut, athletic young man—the mechanic from L.A.—crossing to the elevators, so she joined him and some others as the doors opened.

In the elevator he quietly asked how she had liked Donegal.

"He was...okay, I guess." She shrugged, not having anything to compare it with. Her ears were still ringing.

His chuckle was so soft she barely heard it. "Then you had better let someone else take your table," he commented, his light gray eyes dancing with amusement. "You could sell that spot for several hundred dollars if you'd guarantee Donegal would sing to them like he sang to you."

"You're mistaken. He was just sitting at that spot. He didn't single me out—”

"Oh, yes, he did!" he corrected her swiftly. "I've been to quite a few of his shows and I know. He doesn't sing like that to everyone. You really caught his eye."

"I wasn't trying to."

"That's probably what did it." He got off on the same floor as she, wishing her a pleasant "Good night" as she stopped to open her door; then strode away down the endless-looking corridor. He had a distinctive bounce to his walk, moving with the grace of a runner, his toes turned slightly outward.

Cross him off the list. He had had two opportunities to speak to her and neither time had he mentioned Crystal.

Discouraged, Perri closed the door behind her and looked around the empty room. What should she do? Go home? There was no one there.

Distraught from worry, she undressed and crawled into bed. What was Walt doing? Was he in contact with Owen's friends? Who were they?

Perri tossed and turned half the night, finally drifting off in the early hours, to wake up later than she had planned. She stared at the wall, with its row of hand-painted decorative tiles next to the ceiling. With daylight, the situation seemed less threatening. She wasn't doing any good here, and Walt wanted her to leave.

She would go home.

With a heavy sigh, she turned over so she could see the rest of the room...and caught her breath.

Lying just inside her door was a pale green envelope embossed with the hotel logo. Perhaps it was from her contact, explaining what had happened last night.

Perri flew out of bed and ripped it open.

Inside was a thick wad of money...U.S. currency. Puzzled, she counted the stack of twenties and tens. Five hundred dollars. From Papa? Why would he send her money? He didn’t know she’d lost her credit card. It had to have come from Hugo Brandt. He had offered to loan her some money— but what would prompt him to give her so much?

Perri couldn't believe it was a simple loan, and her temper rose. A man didn't just give a female— a stranger— five hundred dollars without expecting something in return. They didn't where she came from.

Her first impulse was to stuff the money back inside and return it. Blast the man.

Seeking a satisfactory outlet for her temper, she soccer-kicked one of her shoes hard across the floor, bouncing it off the far wall with a satisfying thud...imagining it to be Hugo's head as it flew through the air.

Then reason asserted itself. This would make it a snap to go home immediately. She could take out whatever she needed for traveling expenses and leave the rest at the desk, with a note that she would pay him back as soon as she got to Phoenix.

CHAPTER FIVE

Hugo paced across the floor of Walt's hotel room, cutting back and forth through the path of early morning sunlight. "I don't like it," he said, stopping to face Walt, who was buttoning up the loudest shirt he had ever seen. "I need to be with you, helping you find Owen."

Walt wasn't looking at him and Hugo had to curb his impatience and wait to repeat himself after Walt glanced up. Even though it took Walt only a second before he realized Hugo was talking to him, it was a second too long if he had been in danger. Hugo mentally shook his head. The older man should not be trying to do field work; there was too much he missed.

Walt picked up a shoe as he answered. "I don't actually need you while I'm waiting for Owen to contact me. No one here in Mazatlan knows who I am. Only Owen. You can't do anything more than take my phone calls and interpret when I need you. I actually do pretty well, miming my needs. I'm not helpless."

"I know. I didn't mean to imply that." Walt had often said he'd rather be blind than deaf, since people tended to treat a deaf person as if they were stupid. Hugo knew how smart Walt was...the man had trained him. But a dangerous job required all your senses. Hugo had come down here to assist Walt, not baby-sit his daughter; and as much as he was attracted to Perri, he worried about Walt when he wasn't with him.

"Sorry. I'm touchy. Your priority is to watch Perri until she goes home. Isn't the job rewarding enough for you?"

"Very! She's accepted Hugo completely. And she did have supper with me." He watched to see what Walt's reaction would be, but his ex-boss was adept at hiding his emotions.

"She got my note?"

"And your money."

"Then she should be leaving today."

"And if she doesn't?" Hugo asked, wondering why Walt couldn't recall the stubborn set of Perri's jaw when she decided she was going to do something. She had planted her feet in the hotel lobby fast enough when she thought Hugo was going to take her somewhere she didn't want to go. Or maybe, as a father, he just didn't see certain aspects of her personality. He had sure called things wrong when he had encouraged him not to tone down Hugo's character.

"If she doesn't, you stay with her till she does."

"Huh! It's too bad you can't just tell her what's going on."

"If I believed she was in danger, I would. But no one knows she's connected to Owen. Unless she starts asking for him. She hasn't, has she?"

"Not that I know of. She asked for you at the desk after she got your note."

"She told you?"

"I paid the hotel clerks to keep an eye on her for me. They think they're helping Hugo pursue her, romantically. One even told her I was an old friend of his."

"You keep things brotherly between you. I don't want Perri mourning over a broken heart after this is over."

Hugo grinned to himself. So his earlier comment had hit home. "Of course," he said. He couldn't afford to get interested in Perri while he was guarding her. Love dulled the sense of danger and had left more than one agent dead. But after they had gotten Owen out of Mexico, he was going to pursue Perri as himself.

"You make sure she gets on the plane. If she acts like she's going downtown, try to keep her away from me. I'll go to the waterfront before noon, then to the market area from noon to five. You can find me there."

"I can't miss that shirt."

"We need to keep from getting ourselves mixed up. Always meet with me as ‘Joe.’ That way, if I ever see you as Hugo, I won't contact you, figuring Perri might be close by."

"Sounds like a good idea. Just remember to keep the names straight. I've got to go, or I might miss her."

Hugo left, trying not to attract attention by hurrying as he made his way back to the hotel. Reaching his room, he called Perri's. The line was busy, so he took time for a shower.

Remembering that Walt sometimes left messages for her with his secretary, Perri called her step-father's office number and asked for him. Instead the switchboard put her through to Luke Rogers.

"Hello," Perri responded to his business-like greeting. "This is Perri Linn. I'm trying to reach Walt. Do you have any idea where he is?"

"Yes. He's working for a private client and can't be reached unless—”

"Isn't he in Mazatlan?" she demanded.

There was a long pause at the other end of the line.

"Where are you?" He sounded suspicious.

"I'm in Mazatlan. Looking for Owen."

"I tried to reach you yesterday. You should come back to Arizona."

"Why?"

"Because I called the government and they sent a couple of men down there to look into the situation. I figured as a citizen, Owen should be able to get some help from Uncle Sam, and they agreed."

"Oh. Then I'm not needed?"

"No. Come on back. We don't know what's going on there...but it's probably dangerous. You need to get out of that area."

"Have you heard from Walt?"

"Yes."

"Could I have his phone number?"

"No."

"An address then?"

"No. He didn't give me one."

Frustrated, Perri said "Good bye," and abruptly hung up. Had her father told Luke Rogers to deny her information? Or was Luke doing it on his own?

She would go home...but only after she had contacted Owen's friend. He'd need to know that the government had sent men down to help Owen. She could have him get in touch with Luke, who could in turn help him contact the two government men. Or Papa. Was he actually here, too? How maddening it was to be kept in the dark. If she left, Owen would have no way of contacting his father. If she stayed, Papa would surely contact her to see why she was still here.

Shaking her head in doubt over the best course of action, she finally decided to remain in Mazatlan until she heard from Papa again.

And as soon as her credit card arrived, she would pay Hugo back with money, nothing else. She would make it a point to tell him so, just in case he had any wild ideas inside that arrogant head of his. Dialing the front desk, she asked them to ring his room, but there was no answer.

Hugo was a trusting soul, she thought in bewilderment, as she placed the money into her purse. Or else so rich that five hundred to him was like ten to her. He hadn't acted very rich yesterday—taking the bus and eating at that small cafe—nor dressed that way; but some truly wealthy men didn't.

Still, he couldn't be poor and stay very long at this place. It was puzzling.

Dressing quickly, Perri left the hotel, nodding a cheery good morning to "Junior" who was idling outside on the sidewalk, a map of Mazatlan in his hand.

"Having fun?" he asked.

"Yes." What else was she to say? That she had never felt so alone in her life?

"I was wondering...I don't want to tour Mazatlan by myself. Care to go with me?"

"Not today, thanks."

"How about an early lunch?"

"No. Thanks. I've other plans."

"You have friends staying here? Someone you're meeting?"

"Not really." Her impatience must have shown, for he shrugged, wished her luck and went on his way.

Taking a taxi to the cafe Hugo had shown her, Perri had a late breakfast of an egg, burrito and hot Mexican chocolate. Then she walked slowly back, trying to relax as she pondered the events of the past days.

Everything seemed to happen at the hotel. The letter, the money, the ticket. If Papa was there, he was staying out of her way.

Impatient suddenly to get back, she stopped and looked back down the street for a cab. Junior was behind her, about half a block, and her heart raced in alarm. Was it a coincidence? Or was he following her? And if so, was he her contact, or one of the men out to kill Owen?

A taxi pulled up at her wave and she climbed in, asking for the hotel. A quick glance back showed that Junior had stopped to check a vendor's merchandise. Perhaps she was reading too much into his presence. Over-reacting. She had seen too many spy movies.

Re-entering the lobby, she asked the clerk if there was a deaf man staying in the hotel. He nodded, but when she described Walt, shook his head. "No, this man is very thin, very old."

There were no messages for her and Hugo did not answer his phone. Carl Freedman passed by on the way to the beach, his towel slung over his arm, and Anna waved hello as she entered the small convenience store off the lobby. After a few minutes, Junior also came in, but joined Anna in the store, comparing postcards.

Not knowing what else to do, Perri entered the store and bought a magazine filled with various types of puzzles, then returned to her room, prepared to wait. People seemed to know where she was, so she'd stay put.

Hugo had had a busy morning, keeping tabs on Perri and trying to make sure Walt didn't overdo things. He had followed her as Joe, knowing she would be less likely to spot that character. He had noticed Junior hanging around and decided he should discourage the youth again, when it was convenient.

As Joe, he was near enough to see the puzzle magazine Perri bought. Guessing her intent, he ducked out of the hotel and headed for where he had last seen Walt, at a tourist restaurant a few blocks away. Walt would wait for several hours at one location, then move on to another place...each time taking a spot which was easily seen.

He was sitting at an outside table, facing the street, when Hugo arrived in the character of Joe. Walt pushed a tall glass of iced lime juice over to him. "Here. You look like you need this. I've had so many, I'm about to float."

Joe ducked the low-hanging palm fronds that shaded the table and sank into the next chair, where he could also see up the street. "Thanks," he said as he took a long drink. "I haven't had time to get anything. I think Perri's taking a rest. She took a puzzle book up to her room with her."

Walt drummed his fingers on the table top. "Good. Go ahead and order."

"Any luck?"

"No. I wonder if Owen is still in Mazatlan. He would know I'd come and look for him here. If he could, he'd drive around until he saw me."

"He might have just missed you. Or been injured."

"Or killed. Owen didn't send that postcard for fun. I wish I had more information, to know just how dangerous the situation is. I sent Perri another note. Does she show any sign of leaving?"

"No. Shouldn't you just go see her? Tell her to leave."

"Maybe I should. She's probably staying here to give me a hand interpreting. I'll tell her Joe is helping me."

"That should do it." Joe turned to wave at a waiter and caught the movement of a long object being thrust out of a car window as it approached. His mind identified it even as his eyes searched for the waiter. Machine gun!