High Stakes by Fern Michaels (17)

Pilar Sanders sat in the breakfast nook, her eyes on the wilted flowers. She felt like she was carved in stone and cemented to the tile floor. She heard Zuma Delgado say, “Don’t get up. I can find my way out.” She nodded, because she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. She blinked when she noticed him appear back in the doorway. “Make sure your husband is at the club this evening, Senora Sanders. There are some things I want to discuss with him.”

This time, Pilar didn’t acknowledge the words in any way. Just go. Just get out of my house. Go outside and get yourself killed in traffic. Just get out of my house, and don’t ever come back.

Pilar had no idea how long she sat at the table. She’d heard the door close. Thank God it was self-locking and Delgado couldn’t get back in. Oh, Gabe, you were so right. Why didn’t I listen to you? Where are you? Please call me. Please.

She thought her prayers were answered a moment later, when her cell phone chirped. She looked down to see who the caller was—Carlie Fisher, her business manager. Her disappointment was so raw, she started to cry. She needed to get it through her head that Gabe was not coming back. Wings sprouted on her feet at the realization. She ran to the wall safe and removed the picture that covered it. What was the combination? She couldn’t remember. Gabe was always the one who opened the safe. He’d said he wrote it down somewhere, but where? Damn it. Where was it? Then she remembered he’d used a permanent marker and scribbled the numbers on the ice machine in the refrigerator, saying, “See? It looks like a serial number.”

Pilar ran back to the kitchen and opened the freezer of the Sub-Zero machine, and there it was, just like Gabe had said: eighty-six, forty-four, nineteen. Four right, three left, and two right, and the door should open. She ran back to the safe, but it took her three tries before the mechanism clicked and the heavy door unlocked. She stared into the depths, at the packet that had her name on it. She bit down on her lower lip. Take it out. And do what? Leave it in. And then what happens? If she took it out, got dressed like she did every day, and carried an extra-big purse so the packet wouldn’t be visible, she could head to the airport and take the next flight that she could get a seat on.

But what if she was followed? What if she was stopped, and they, whoever they were, took the packet? What if they killed her? Gabe would never know. They’d throw her body in the Potomac, and when they found her, no one would be able to recognize her bloated body. She’d never been fingerprinted, so unless they knew which dentist she went to, she’d go down as a Jane Doe. She shuddered at the thought. More tears flooded her eyes. She gritted her teeth as her arm shot forward, only to be withdrawn a moment later. Who was she kidding? She stared at the inside of the safe for a full minute before she slammed the heavy door shut. She replaced the painting, careful to make sure it was straight and not listing to the side, because the frame was so heavy. She walked into the bedroom.

Like hell! There was a solution to everything. You simply had to search for it. Well, she was good at that. One way or another, she’d find a way out of the mess she had gotten herself into. If Lady Luck was on her side, she just might be able to find a way to join her husband. But right now, she needed to get grounded, to focus, to make a plan. And she needed to toughen up. From this point on, she needed to stop showing fear where Delgado was concerned. She needed to stand up to him, to make her own threats. He needed her. More than she needed him.

One of Gabe’s favorite sayings was, “You can’t fix stupid.” “Well, we’ll just see about that!” Pilar shouted to the empty bedroom.

Thirty minutes later, Pilar was back in the kitchen. It struck her as funny that in the past few days she’d spent more time in the kitchen than she had in all the years she’d lived in this condo. The first thing she did was toss out the wilted flowers, vase and all. Then she made fresh coffee. The next thing she did was to open her laptop to her business program. She sent off a detailed e-mail to Carlie Fisher, outlining everything she needed done by the close of business today. She then e-mailed all the vendors she’d dealt with over the years in Los Angeles, explaining that due to circumstances beyond her control, she would not be holding the Mr. December contest in LA this year but in Miami instead.

Next, she connected with the vendors in Miami, from whom she received a robust response. She received the same sort of response from the pageant officials in the Florida city when she explained she was moving this year’s Mr. December contest to their city and asked for special consideration due to short notice. Then she went out on a limb and promised sold-out performances, with a bonus payment if that didn’t happen.

Right now, right this second, she would and could lie through her teeth, do or say anything, to try to get out from under. What did she care what happened? If she played her cards right, she wouldn’t be anywhere near Miami and the planned contest for opening night. If she managed to play her cards the way she hoped to, she’d be halfway around the world, and Delgado and his people would be in prison.

She thought about the downside. No conveyor belt, no big cash win. She could live with that. She had no other options if she wanted to get out from under. The only thing that bothered her was leaving all her bags, shoes, and designer outfits behind. Then again, maybe not. With a few cards left in the deck to play, she might be able to unload it all on one of those secondhand shops. She’d looked into it once. She could get fifty cents on the dollar, which was better than nothing, if she just walked out and left it all behind. With six weeks to go to the pageant, she could take all her jewelry to one of the best jewelers and see what they’d give her. A tidy sum, to be sure. Gabe would be so proud of her for finally coming to her senses. If he ever found out.

Feeling better by the moment, Pilar sent off a text to Toby Mason, explaining once again that the China deal was off, that important people would be watching the performance tonight, and that he needed to be in top form.

Get a haircut, she texted. Get highlights. Use extra bronzing lotion. I’ll meet with you to discuss Mr. December in Miami.

Pilar then scrolled through the directory on her phone for the top jewelers and started calling to see who expressed the most interest and was willing to come to the apartment to view the pieces she was willing to sell. She finally found a jeweler in Georgetown, who said he would be happy to meet with her at one o’clock. Pilar agreed to the time and went on to the consignment shops that handled movie-star apparel turned in by politicians’ wives and other high-income Washingtonians. Even Jackie Kennedy had used their services back in the day. They had pamphlets that said the former first lady would wear something once, then turn it in for 80 percent of what she’d paid for it so she would not be photographed wearing the same thing twice. It took only an hour’s worth of calls before she found the person she wanted, who promised to come by to view the items at four o’clock.

Satisfied that she was now on a roll, Pilar emptied her coffee cup and prepared a fresh pot. She felt calm now, despite her caffeine intake. She felt like she was truly ready to take on Zuma Delgado. If Gabe were here, what would he do? He’d smoke a cigarette. Pilar was up and rummaging in the kitchen drawers, where he always kept a spare pack in case he had a craving. She finally found the ugly things in the back of the utility drawer. She wasn’t a smoker, but she had smoked once in a while with Gabe when they were celebrating something or other. She fired up a cigarette, propped her feet up on Gabe’s chair, and puffed away as she sipped at her coffee. She let her mind roam. Did she forget anything? Something small she’d overlooked? She couldn’t think of a thing.

One hundred pounds of pure uncut cocaine with a street value of five million dollars. Cut the cocaine, and the value jumped to ten million dollars, depending on the purity of the cocaine. With five shows, that meant Delgado would be raking in fifty million dollars, possibly more for the gig in Miami. And for her help, Delgado had promised her ten million dollars. She’d almost choked when she’d heard the numbers he rattled off so nonchalantly. Ten million dollars, and all she had to do was wrap ten packages with huge red bows. The ten wrapped packages would then be used as the prizes at the end of each show. When the winning contestant was handed one of the gift-wrapped packages, which he, in turn, handed off to Pilar, to be replaced with a similar package that held a thousand-dollar laptop computer and a plaque. Easy-peasy.

Gabe was so right; you can’t fix stupid.

Pilar finished her cigarette and lit up a second one. She thought maybe she should eat something, but there was nothing in the apartment to eat. She debated calling one of the restaurants nearby to order a salad and sandwich. If she didn’t eat something now, it would be late tonight before she would be able to sit down to a meal. Gabe’s words rang in her ears. If you don’t eat breakfast, then you must eat lunch, and you must consume at least two bottles of water a day. That was fine and well and good when Gabe was around to make sure it happened, but now that she was on her own, it didn’t seem all that easy.

Good Lord, when had she turned into such a slug? Before she could dwell on her own question, she flicked on her phone for the app that would take her to Boxcar Betty’s, where she ordered a ham and cheese on rye with two pickles and a side order of potato salad. She was given the amount, plus delivery, plus tip. She shrugged. Twenty-five dollars was a bit much, she thought. Obviously, Gabe hadn’t thought so. She shrugged. When in Rome . . .

The rest of the morning was spent on the phone with Carlie Fisher as they fine-tuned the Miami schedule. The first radio ads would start tomorrow morning and run all day, on and off. The first TV commercial in both English and Spanish would air in Miami tonight, at nine o’clock. That should satisfy Delgado that she was on his side. Just go through the motions, just bide your time, keep the sleazebag happy, and you might, just might, walk away from this in one piece. How she had thought otherwise still baffled her. All it took was sitting across from him, staring into his cold, dead-looking eyes. She had to get away as soon as possible.

For one wild, crazy moment, Pilar gave some thought to going to the feds and confessing and asking for immunity. She negated that thought as soon as it entered her head. If she did that, she was on their radar screen forever.

In a rare moment of honesty, Pilar admitted to herself that she was to blame for her current situation, because of her greed. She’d gotten her and Gabe into this, and now it was up to her to get herself out of the mess she’d created. In another rare moment of honesty, she was glad that Gabe had gotten away. He’d just done what she asked because he loved her heart and soul, and she’d taken advantage of his love. There was no way she could blame him for her current circumstances. Her eyes burned with guilt. Wherever you are, Gabe, I hope that you’re safe and happy and that you don’t forget me. Please, don’t ever forget me.

Whatever was going to happen going forward would be what it would be. Pilar sighed as she settled down to wait for her lunch to be delivered. She had ninety minutes to eat and get ready for the day and for the jewelry man to arrive. It would take her only five minutes to get her jewelry ready, since she kept it all in one place. Inside a box of maxi pads that had been opened, then sealed at the bottom. She kept the box in the master-bath linen closet. Gabe had said she was crazy, but she had ignored him. Going in and out of the safe twice a day was a pain in the neck. She’d won her argument by saying, “Who would steal a box of sanitary napkins, since most burglaries are committed by men?” She’d finally worn him down, and he’d never said another word about her makeshift jewelry safe.

Pilar’s food arrived. She handed over the twenty-five dollars and sat down to eat. She wolfed it all down within ten minutes. She’d never eaten so fast in her whole life, but suddenly she was starved, because she hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours.

Her stomach full, she cleared the table. She decided to finish the coffee and have another one of Gabe’s cigarettes. In some cockamamy way, smoking her husband’s cigarettes made her feel closer to him.

The one last cigarette turned into three more before the jeweler arrived right on time. Pilar had transferred the sparkling gems to a velvet-lined jewelry box Gabe had given her years ago but in which she kept only her high-end costume jewelry.

The jeweler, a fussy little man named Madison Miller, checked each piece of jewelry with a jeweler’s glass, scribbled notes, and thumbed through a catalog he’d brought with him. Pilar thought about smoking another cigarette to while away the time while the jeweler decided what to pay her, but decided against it.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Ms. Sanders, why are you selling all these lovely pieces of jewelry?”

Pilar knew the question would come up and had the lie all ready. “My husband is being transferred to Paris. I don’t want the hassle of trying to take the jewels with me. I can always buy more. I find, though, the older I get, the less I care about such things. I suppose you find that hard to believe or understand.”

“Not at all. I see it all the time. I can give you two-point-four million dollars for the lot. I truly do not think you could get more anyplace else, but you are welcome to try. That is my offer.”

Pilar didn’t see any point to haggling. “I think that’s fair. Are you prepared to take the jewelry now?”

“Yes, and I came with a check. You might want to call your insurance company when I leave to cancel your insurance policy.”

Pilar almost laughed. She had never insured her jewelry, to Gabe’s chagrin. She simply did not believe in insurance. “Yes, of course. I have it on my list of things to do.”

Her jewelry in the fussy little man’s briefcase, the check on the table, Pilar walked him to the door, where they shook hands.

“Enjoy your time abroad, Ms. Sanders.”

“I will, and thank you.”

Back in the kitchen, Pilar looked at the check and didn’t feel a thing. It could have been for ten dollars, and she would have felt the same way. She didn’t even care that she had just sold off her beautiful jewelry, all gifts from Gabe. She had kept a diamond cuff bracelet that Gabe had given her for their twentieth anniversary and a diamond choker he’d given her on their twenty-fifth anniversary because she planned on wearing both when she left here for good, along with her five-carat diamond earrings and, of course, her diamond wedding band and engagement ring. If anyone questioned the value, she’d just shrug and say it was high-end costume jewelry.

Pilar sat back down at the table. She missed the ratty flowers. How was that possible? she wondered. She sighed as she filled out a deposit ticket and placed the check in an envelope that went into a FedEx envelope, which she would drop in the box in the lobby when she left for the evening, for delivery to her brokerage account. She took a moment to wonder if she was being too quick. Maybe the people from the consignment shop would pay her today. No, they wouldn’t pay until they could cart out her belongings. Tomorrow, probably, but today they would settle on a price.

What to do with the remaining hours until they arrived? She could cry, she could think about Gabe, she could feel sorry for herself, or she could do something constructive. She eyed the nearly half-empty package of cigarettes on the table; then her gaze went to the coffeepot. Why the hell not? Smoke and drink coffee. It could be worse. She could be smoking pot and drinking booze. She realized that before she left for the evening, she would have to take another shower and wash her hair again so she didn’t smell like a chimney stack. She crossed her fingers that she wouldn’t get addicted to cigarettes.

TV! That was what she could do; she could watch the news. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. Game shows? Soap operas? The shoppers’ channel? Hard news on the cable channel? Cartoons?

In the end Pilar sat back in the chair, propped up her feet on Gabe’s chair, and stared off into space as she puffed on what was left of his cigarettes and swilled more coffee.