The Watcher (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 4) Page 4

  “Thank you, Chico,” Tia said, looking bewildered at his response.

  “Now if you will excuse us.” Gaspar turned and gestured to his sidekick, and they headed down the hill, making arrangements for the body to be moved.

  As Miranda watched them go, she knew it wasn’t the bad publicity that had Tia worried. It was whether this body had been a victim of the author of those death threats.

  ###

  The saints must have been with him.

  Or perhaps it was just good luck that had made him turn around and notice the party of intruders as they came plodding up the hill, the mangy dog leading the way.

  He had taken cover in the trees. In his favorite spot. The secret place where he had come from time to time to watch. To look down on the other place. The spot the dog had led them to. The place where the man below had breathed his last.

  He had watched him from this little sanctuary here, hidden among the thickest trees and vines. Visiting the scene from time to time just to check up on him, so to speak.

  He watched him turn blue, go stiff, and later the flies descend upon him and begin to feed and lay eggs until he was crawling with them. He watched him bloat like a fat balloon and go frothy. And then little by little he watched him disappear until he was nothing but bone and hair and leathery skin.

  And each time the vision had been even more gratifying then the last. Intensely satisfying. He had deserved every moment of that rotting putrid end. Watching it was the most satisfying thing he’d experienced in his whole life.

  But then, he had not yet done what he was planning to Tia.

  His head began to ache as he thought of the man and the woman she had brought with her up here.

  Detectives from America? He recognized them from the televisão, too. Especially the woman.

  Is this how you respond to my little love notes, Tia? Oh, you will have to pay for that. And now the polícia? When I told you not to contact them?

  Not that he was worried about the polícia in this matter.

  They would not find him. They would never figure out what had happened to the man below or who he was. He was not worried the slightest bit he would be discovered. The thought calmed him. And to be sure, there was no sign Tia had shown the polícia his letters.

  But that did not mean he would forgive her. It meant instead, he would have to devise an even more fitting end for her.

  He adjusted his backpack and turned to disappear deeper into the thick trees, but he paused to take one more look at her.

  Yes, Tia. Oh, yes. You will pay. And so will those detectives.

  Chapter Seven

  “I know I just met her, but I can’t stand to see what your friend is going through.” Miranda paced back and forth across the glossy wood floor of their casinha, the cottage Tia had put them in.

  As big as some houses, the place was a huge open space, complete with a full kitchen, living room, bedroom with walk-in closets and a sunken tub in the bathroom. Everything was done in rustic woodsy hues and there were plenty of windows, showing off more great views of the majestic scenery.

  Although the memory of that skeleton on the mountain took the edge off the majestic part a tad.

  “It’s hard for me to see her like this as well.” Parker said. He stood across the living room, carefully removing the contents of his pockets and laying them on the coffee table. “Tia has always been such a warm, loving person. She doesn’t deserve this.”

  Nobody did.

  Miranda strolled over and looked down at what Parker was spreading on the table.

  The threatening letters. Rico’s black leather toiletry bag Tia had fetched for them. Some hair and a bit of dried skin from the corpse in the woods. The samples Parker had taken from the body before the police arrived.

  Her skin began to crawl. “What do we do with these?”

  “Wrap them up and send them to a lab we know has a quicker turnaround than the one in São Paulo.”

  He meant the lab at the Parker Agency. Even that might take too long. Who knew when the lunatic who wrote those letters would strike? She pulled at her hair.

  Parker caught the doubt in her gesture. “Do you have a better idea?”

  She shrugged. “Not really.” The Agency lab was their best shot. “But it’s Sunday. The package won’t go out until tomorrow.”

  “Tia gave me the name of a friend who’s a special courier.”

  “Oh?”

  “He has a private plane and can fly to São Paulo and ensure the package goes out on a flight to Atlanta by this evening.”

  What a relief. Maybe they did have a shot at this. “That’s what I call express mail.”

  “Yes. We’ll have to go into town to meet him.”

  “Okay.”

  He studied her a long moment then stepped across the floor, took her face in his hands and pressed his mouth against hers.

  Her mind spun and the room titled at the sheer power of his sudden kiss. She drank in the touch of his lips, his tongue, the heady smell of him, the feel of his hard-muscled arms as she ran her hands over his suit coat. She kissed him back hard, imagining for a moment that they’d come to this lovely spot for a romantic getaway instead of a case with death threats and a skeleton in the woods.

  But they hadn’t.

  She broke the kiss and pulled back with a half smile. “What was that for?”

  “Can’t I let my wife know how much I love her?”

  Her half smile went to full. “Anytime.”

  He drew her to him again, his lips travelling seductively to her ear. “Do you ever wish we could live a normal life, Miranda?” he murmured.

  She snorted out a laugh. “Normal life? What’s that?”

  “Breakfast at home, reading the paper, walks in the park.”

  “We do that.”

  “Not often enough.” He ran a hand through her hair. “You’ve seen so much death lately.”

  She stiffened. Now she knew what he was driving at. He was getting worried about her again.

  She understood his concerns. He’d lost Sylvia to ovarian cancer not that long ago and when he was a young man, he’d lost his first love in a brutal killing. He was afraid she’d go that way, too and he’d be left alone again. And okay, he had almost lost her a while back, too.

  But that didn’t mean she was going to sit at home and let men like Rico Dominguez—or whoever was sending Tia those death threats—get away with it.

  She cleared her throat and walked back to the coffee table. “So you want to go into town and get this stuff to the courier right away?”

  Over her shoulder she heard him draw in a slow, patient breath. “As soon as we clean up a bit,” he said.

  She exhaled her own breath, glad he was letting that other subject drop.

  “We can have lunch if you’re up to it.”

  Hunger from her mountain climb was trumping the nausea from seeing those musty bones. “I could eat.”

  “We’ll look around and see if we can get a sense of anyone else who might have sent those death threats.”

  Miranda put her hands on her hips. “You don’t think the letters and the carcass are related?”

  “We can’t assume it.”

  “We can’t dismiss it, either.”

  “No, but the letters have to be our primary focus.”

  For now at least. She moved away from the coffee table. “On the surface, it looks like Tia’s divorce proceedings and claim on the resort are the motive for the death threats. It Tia’s husband was violent enough, he could have killed somebody and left him in the woods to bring the resort bad publicity, like Inspector Gaspar mentioned.”

  Parker rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “The bad publicity forces Tia to hand over the property, then he reopens under new management.”

  “One scenario. Or the body could simply be a tragic coincidence.”

  Miranda pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “You’re right. The guy in the woods could have been
killed by anybody. A disgruntled guest, maybe. The guy in the woods could have been somebody who got a turn in the spa first. Except…”

  “No one has been reported missing according to Inspetor Gaspar.”

  “We should check out this Rico dude.”

  Parker nodded and went to the small oak desk to unpack his laptop. “I’ll set up some searches to run while we’re out. I imagine the wifi is slow at this altitude but it will have to do.” He began plugging up the machine. “Why don’t you get started in the bathroom?”

  “Sure.” She grabbed a bag and headed across the room. “I won’t be long.”

  After closing the door of the fancy tiled room that was almost as big as the main bath in the Parker mansion, Miranda pulled out her phone.

  She thought of those letters. “You will die soon,” one of them said. And the other one, “I know what you are planning.” Sounded a little like the text messages she’d been getting lately.

  She dialed Becker’s number. Surely he’d made some progress finding out who’d sent them. But after four rings, her call went to voice mail.

  She texted him. “Any progress on our little secret?”

  She waited a minute. Then another. Nothing.

  With a grunt, she stripped, got in the tub and washed off the sweat and mountain grime. Then she dried herself and stepped into a fresh pair of jeans and a V-neck T-shirt.

  Wiping the steam off the face of her phone she stared at it. Still no answer. It was the weekend. Becker was probably out with Fanuzzi and the kids. Or planning that trip to Paris. Jeez.

  Have to try again later.

  Frustrated, she shoved the phone back in her pocket and went out to help Parker pack up that disgusting evidence.

  Chapter Eight

  The town of Campos do Flores was nestled in a valley, the surrounding peaks dotted with spiny bushes, pines, and funny looking trees that reminded Miranda of upside-down umbrellas. The cool air had that fresh, outdoors scent that went with the town’s magical, fairytale feel.

  High peaked roofs crowded together over whitewashed buildings with dark crisscrossing beams in a waffle design. The whole place looked like it was made of gingerbread. And to think, back home in Atlanta, it was summer.

  Weird to be on the other side of the equator.

  Miranda stared out the window of the passenger seat while Parker navigated the oddly intersecting streets of the little village. She saw rows of shops with small, shingled roofs over their fronts and along the walkway a line of tables and chairs for customers who were talking, reading or playing board games. Though the streets were crowded there was a sense of ease.

  “Seems like a real laid back place,” she said.

  Parker nodded. “Brazil is known for its relaxed atmosphere. It makes for a popular vacation spot.”

  “Guess so. That means the people here could be from anywhere. They could come for a day and leave the next. Like our hiker in the woods.”

  “Exactly.”

  And despite what Tia thought, any of the people they were passing on the street could be the killer. Or the sender of those threatening letters.

  She let out a breath. Nothing like a challenge.

  Parker found a place to stash the car and they walked to a cool looking restaurant-slash-pub and went inside.

  Naturally, it had a décor as German as the town itself. The walls were lined with shelves of dark wood holding fancily carved steins of every shape and color imaginable. The air was filled with peppy Alpine music that made you want to yodel, and the strange delicious smells coming from the kitchen made your mouth water.

  It wasn’t as crowded as Miranda had expected and they found the courier at the bar, sipping a cup of strong coffee. He was a slight man with silver gray hair who seemed to be in his mid-fifties.

  “Fortifying myself before I take up the bird,” he said, referring to the plane trip he was about to take, as he shook hands with them.

  Parker handed him the package. “We appreciate your doing this, Mr.—”

  “Call me Max. Short for Maximilian.” His eyes twinkled with kindness.

  “Max, then,” Parker smiled back.

  It was hard to get used to the lack of last names, Miranda decided.

  “Anything for Tia. She helped my family out some years ago when we were in dire need. She’s fine lady.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Max eyed both of them carefully. “She did not give me the details of this mission. I can only trust her judgment about you.”

  “I assure you, Max,” Parker said. “We’re here to help. My first wife and I were good friends with Tia and her family years ago.”

  Max took that information in as he downed the last of his coffee. He got to his feet. “That will have to do, then. Sorry I can’t stay and chat more but duty calls.” He pointed to the package now under his arm.

  “Thank you, again,” Parker told him.

  “If there is anything amiss when I get back, you will have me to answer to.”

  Parker suppressed a grin. “Very well.”

  Max nodded a good-bye, hurried across the restaurant and out the door.

  “Good to know someone’s looking out for Tia,” Miranda murmured to Parker. “And he seems trustworthy.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  They found a rustic booth in a shadowy spot against the wall and Parker ordered some lunch. After a few minutes a waiter brought a fancy looking meal with exotic names that translated to codfish fritters and grilled trout. A side of small potatoes and odd looking vegetables completed the dish.

  Miranda took a bite and moaned with pleasure. The fish must have been caught in a local brook. It tasted as fresh as the mountain air. Her appetite back, she devoured the plate.

  As they finished the meal they sat washing down the fare with a stout dark beer not unlike Parker’s favorite brew at home. Miranda studied the crowd.

  Across from them sat a family with three kids digging into plates piled with sausages and potatoes. On the other side was an elderly gray haired couple who seemed so lost in each other, they must have been on a second or maybe a third honeymoon. In a far corner a table of young people laughed and chatted noisily. College kids, most likely.

  They all looked like tourists. Innocent as a newborn babe. At least on the surface.

  “You getting any vibes, Parker?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  She tapped her fingers on the wooden table and peered through the thatched window at the mountain peak where the majestic Esquecer sat. “We shouldn’t have left Tia alone.”

  “I offered to stay at the hotel. I also offered to send a trained guard from the Agency. She refused. She said she would not live her life in fear.”

  “Courageous woman. And stubborn.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “A little like someone else I know.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him and put the last bite of trout in her mouth.

  “I believe Tia will be all right for a few hours. She said she’s expecting quite a few guests to come in this afternoon for the local Winter Festival.”

  Miranda frowned out the window. “There’s no snow on the mountains.”

  “It’s a music festival.”

  “Live bands?”

  “Classical musicians. Some of the top in the field come to teach young students and put on concerts.”

  Miranda shrugged. Classical wasn’t her thing. “Guess the event will keep Tia busy.”

  “And hopefully keep our letter writer at bay.”

  Yeah.

  She finished her beer and they were about to leave when hoots and catcalls rang out from several young men at the bar.

  From the alcove of the entrance another young man stepped into the place with the swagger of a sea captain. He wore black slacks, a tight, bright red-and-green T-shirt that showed off rippling chest and arm muscles, and a red headband that held back long blond curls. He was sweaty and looked like he’d just come from working out.

 
“Joca!” one of the men at the bar cried as he embraced him while the others clasped hands in the air and patted him on the back.

  They began to chatter away in Portuguese.

  “Let me guess,” Miranda said softly to Parker. “Local soccer player?”

  “Or futebol as they refer to it here.”

  As they watched somebody hand the dude a beer, the door opened and someone else stepped into the room.

  Miranda put her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in shock while the thin young woman with the long dark blond curls strolled over to the soccer player and let him put an arm around her.

  It was Didi.

  She’d changed into casual clothes. Jeans and a nice top. Expensive alligator half boots on her feet.

  The guy, whose name seemed to be Joca, ordered another beer for her, did another round of glad-handing with the guys, then led her to a booth right next to them. Something about his manner gave Miranda a bad vibe.

  They came really close. Miranda held her breath but Didi slid into her seat with her back to them. She hadn’t recognized them. Whew.

  The two began to talk.

  Chapter Nine

  Miranda watched Parker’s face as he strained to decipher the conversation. He was a pretty good lip reader, but in Portuguese?

  “They’re talking about the game,” he said in a low whisper. “Local team won by a hair…one to zero…Joca kicked the winning point and seems very proud of it.”

  She could see that by the way he spoke. Cocky, chest out, all about me, me, me. She knew the type.

  He took Didi’s hands in his, kissed them.

  “He’s telling her she brought him luck. He wished she could have been there for the whole game. But she said her mother needed her.”

  Didi said something too muffled to hear then Joca leaned forward and tweaked her nose.

  Parker’s face went hard.

  “What did he say to her?”

  “That when they were married, she won’t have to take orders from her mother anymore.”