I hefted the keys in my hand—giving him one last look—and then slid them into my pocket. Spittle had gathered in the corner of his mouth. I had not taken time to count it, but having started with eight people at $5,000 each meant I had $40,000 cash in my pocket. Wanting to add insult to injury, I removed the fat wad from my pocket and counted out $10,000—my $5,000 and the foreman’s $5,000. This got everyone’s attention in the room, but what really got their attention was when I handed $30,000 to the restaurant owner and told him to “give it back to everyone but him.” Interestingly, everyone’s English improved miraculously, and they understood me well enough to know exactly what I’d said.

The foreman stood, slammed his drink glass against the wall, and stormed out—without any of the girls. I think his good thing had just come to an end and he knew it. I wasn’t naive enough to think I’d just made a roomful of friends but they certainly weren’t my enemies, and I’ll bet if I’d wanted dinner right then, the owner of the restaurant would have cooked it for me.

*  *  *

When I pulled in behind the house with the bike tied down in the truck bed and parked next to the chicken coop, I stepped out and a weary shadow appeared from next to the mango tree. It was Paulina. She’d been sitting in a plastic chair, leaning against the tree. She pushed the hair out of her eyes and flipped it a couple of times, tying it in a knot. “I guess you won.”

“Yes.”

She ran her fingers along the sides of the truck. “The foreman was there?”

I nodded.

“Did you shame him?”

I paused. “Yes.”

She stepped closer. “Badly?”

I tilted my head side to side. “That’s one way to put it.”

“That may not bode well for the people that work for him.” One of the things I’d grown to appreciate about Paulina in the short time that I’d known her was her fierce protection of those she loved. “Were others there?”

“The owner of the restaurant where we played, the chief of police, and the mayor, to name a few.”

She shook her head. “Charlie, people know you’re here.” She looked exasperated. “You stick out. People like the foreman will take out on us what you inflict on him. There are ripple effects. You can’t take like that from people around here.”

“Then they shouldn’t risk it.”

“You’re preying on them.”

I didn’t answer.

“Did you cheat?”

“No, I got lucky with the cards. But you should know that I would have. I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“Learn anything about Zaul?”

“No.”

She shook her head and walked toward the house. “Sun’ll be up in a few hours.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Unlike most of the women I’d known, Paulina did not own many articles of clothing, and what she did have she wore several days in a row. As best I could tell, she had three pairs of shoes: running shoes that looked several years old, flip-flops that had been taped back together, and a pair of sandals, which doubled as her “dress shoes.”

She woke me yet again with coffee and a smile. Flip-flops and yesterday’s dress. She set the coffee down and pulled a chair up next to the bed. “You want to walk me back through that poker game last night?”

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Based on our last conversation, I wasn’t sure where this was going, so I wanted to offer as little as possible.

She continued, “You left out a few details.”

“Such as?”

She crossed her legs. “How you won all the money and then gave it all back to the losers—save one.”

I sipped, trying not to make eye contact.

She stood. “Word is that you’re crazy.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you have your reasons that reason doesn’t understand.”

“Paulina, I’m not trying to prey on these people. I’m trying to find Zaul.”

She nodded. “We might be closer than you think.” She walked out, talking over her shoulder. She was chuckling. “Breakfast was delivered this morning.”

I splashed my face and walked into the kitchen, where Paulo was beaming over a cup of coffee. He pointed to two bags on the floor and a cage outside that was clucking. One bag was full of mangoes. The other was full of coffee. The cage contained twelve chickens.

Paulina pointed. She was giddy. “Laying hens.” Her face lit. “Do you know how long it’s been since we owned chickens? Chickens mean eggs! Every morning.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Where’d they come from?”

“Your friends at the coffee plantation.”

“What?”

Paulina stepped toward me—into my personal space—put her hand on my shoulder, and kissed me tenderly on the cheek. Paulo was nodding and smiling larger.

“What’s that for?”

She explained, “The foreman did not come to work this morning. Seems someone exposed him as a first-class cheat. Given that he took a lot of money from several high-ranking officials, chances are likely that he won’t ever return.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Conditions in the plantation mirror the foreman. If he sneezes, the entire plantation gets a cold. If he smiles, everyone laughs. If he’s gone, they take a deep breath and throw a party.”

*  *  *

We dropped Isabella at school, and the three of us took Colin’s truck to the coast. I let Paulo drive. Paulina leaned forward from the backseat and whispered in my ear, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him so happy.” I handed him my Costas, which he accepted and wore proudly.

We returned due west to the coast to an inlet on the beach where several companies ferried surfers to offshore reefs to surf waves often reaching twenty feet in prime conditions.

Like yesterday. Palm trees dotted the dunes and a frayed hammock rocked between two. An American guy was sitting in an old Ford van topped with eight surfboards of varying lengths. He was reading a paperback novel. Led Zeppelin spilling from the speakers. Long bleached hair. Bronzed skin. Skin and bones. Bare feet propped on the dash. Life was good, but currently slow.

He hopped out of his van when we pulled up. “Help you?” he asked.

I showed him Zaul’s picture. “Seen this kid?”

He studied it, finally nodding. “Yeah. Yesterday.”

“Where?”

He pointed at the swaying hammock. “Right there.”

“Talk to him?”

He shook his head. “No. I took his four friends”—he pointed toward the reef—“out for a few hours. Gnarly action. Epic.”

“He didn’t go with you?”

“Nope. Lay right there.” He placed his hand on his rib cage. “Dude was hurt. Took a spill or something. Walking pretty slow. Limping around. No shape to surf.”

“Anything else you can tell me about him?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. When we got back, he was gone.”

“Where’d he go?”

“No idea. His buddies didn’t know, either. They seemed happy to be rid of him. No love lost there.”

That meant the money had run out. “Any idea where they’re staying?”

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

I strode over to the hammock, and while I couldn’t find anything that belonged to Zaul, one thing stuck out. Blood. Soaked through the fabric and caked on the right side of the hammock. And a good bit of it, too. Paulo rubbed his finger across it and smelled it. Paulina looked concerned but said nothing. We drove the coastline until lunch but discovered nothing. Paulina checked in with the hospital in León, but no patient had checked in fitting either Zaul’s description or wound.

*  *  *

We returned to the house at lunch. Feeling helpless and knowing I could do nothing to help Zaul, we drove Colin’s truck to the plantation, where we were met by a smiling and growing crowd. More than a hundred waited in line. She turned to me. “Looks like you have a fan club.”

“Why?”

“They want to meet the man who did to the foreman what they always wished they could.”

“Which was?”

“Shame him.”

Paulina began examining the people in line while Paulo uncoiled the rope and held out my harness. I buckled in and descended into my hole, spending the afternoon digging, worried about Zaul and wondering how I would explain to his mother how I found him dead in a ditch. Or worse, didn’t find him at all.