Cabo Read online

  Also by Davis MacDonald

  The Hill (set in Palos Verdes), Book 1 in the Judge Series

  The Island (set in Avalon, Catalina Island), Book 2 in the Judge Series

  Silicon Beach (set in Santa Monica and the LA West Side), Book 3 in the Judge Series

  The Bay (set in Newport Beach), Book 4 in the Judge Series

  Cabo (set in Cabo San Lucas), Book 5 in the Judge Series

  The Strand (set in Manhattan Beach, Hermosa Beach and Redondo Beach), Book 6 in the Judge Series – Due out in the Fall, 2018

  Recipes and Philosophy from A Los Angeles Semi-Serious Epicurean and Bon Vivant.

  (Recipes from Certain Memorable Dinners Prepared by Amazing California Chefs and Cooks)

  I hope you enjoy Cabo, and if you do, please drop a brief positive review on Amazon for me. Your review will be greatly appreciated.

  Watch for announcements for future books on my Website: http://www.websta.me/n/davis.macdonald

  Davis MacDonald

  CABO

  A MYSTERY NOVEL

  SET IN

  CABO SAN LUCAS,

  MEXICO

  “All animals are equal,

  but some animals are more equal than others.”

  Old Major’s ideals, “refined”, as read off the wall by Old Benjamin

  Animal Farm

  George Orwell

  (1945)

  CHAPTER 1

  “You what?” The Judge’s voice went up an octave. He was tired, he was hot, he was sticky. He wasn’t in the mood for this horseshit.

  “Don’t snap at me, Judge,” Katy shot back. “You heard me the first time. I signed us up with the nice young man outside by the taxis for a timeshare presentation. He’s going to give us two free tickets to go snorkeling on a boat, and a twenty percent off coupon for his grandfather’s taco truck.”

  “Katy, Katy, Katy. I don’t snorkel, I don’t like tacos, and if I did, the last place I’d be eating them is off some rat-trap taco truck on a Cabo backstreet.”

  “But Judge….”

  “And, and, and… I don’t ever, under any circumstances… there’s not enough money in this world to pay me to ever, ever, do a timeshare presentation.”

  The Judge folded his arms across his chest, trying to signify the issue was settled, discussion ended, wishing he could shove his head in a refrigerator somewhere and cool off.

  People in the fancy hotel lobby were glancing at them, sensing juicy domestic strife, making him even more irritable. This would be their hotel. That was if they ever got to the head of the check-in line, clogged with a gaggle of middle-aged Southern ladies on some tour, as broad as they were tall.

  His Tommy Bahama shirt was clinging to his back like a wet rag, beads of perspiration were forming under his USC baseball cap, and he was damn hot. He wanted to stomp his foot he was so agitated, but the other guests and staff were waiting to see what he’d do next. He’d be damned if he’d give them the satisfaction.

  “Where is this young man you talked to?”

  “He’s there, by the ticket stand for the valet, but Judge can we talk about this?”

  The Judge harrumphed. “Hold our place in line, Katy.”

  The Judge marched out of the non-air-conditioned lobby and into the non-air-conditioned portal and looked about, then headed for the back of a young Mexican, who turned, sensing he might be under attack. He looked early twenties, soft brown eyes, a quick, boyish smile showing ivory teeth, sending out waves of charm at the Judge as though it were his primary means of defense. To say he was buff would be an understatement. One may as well say the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln was a boat.

  Beautiful tan skin and muscle rippled under a fish net tank-top out of date in L.A., but still fashionable in Cabo San Lucas. The fringy bottom was tucked into white pants too snug for the Judge’s taste, showing tight buns before he turned, and a pouch of plumbing the size of a grapefruit in front, further agitating the Judge. He could see the young man was preparing to charm his way out of whatever was the problem.

  The Judge had almost reached him, considering what it would feel like to wrap his hands around the kid’s neck, when his sleeve was plucked from behind by Katy’s small hand, sans engagement ring because she’d left it at home. She was quite determined to hang on and deflect the raging bull. Her voice hissed in his ear, “Judge, stop behaving like a bully and come over here and talk to me. Right now!”

  He sighed. He could rarely resist her. He loved her too much.

  In horror, he saw she’d abandoned their hard-sweated place in the line for the check-in desk, and now marched him across the lobby like a small boy to a settee next to a standing fan, waving her hand across the lobby to order drinks.

  A complimentary white creamy concoction was thrust into his hand, all coconut, sugar and rum. He hated coconut. At least it was cold. He pressed the glass to his temple and tried to ignore the smell.

  “Now Judge, you just sit here for a minute next to the fan and cool down. This is a vacation, remember.”

  “I’m hot and I’m tired.”

  “It’s no surprise. You were up until three last night working. Of course, you’re tired.”

  “It’s the way it works, Katy. If you’re a solo practicing lawyer, you play hell trying to set things up so you can go on a vacation. Then you play hell trying to catch up when you get back.”

  “Yes dear. Well we’re here now. So now you can relax.”

  “You really want to go on a… a… a timeshare?” He could hardly get the word out it so boggled his mind.

  “What’s the first timeshare presentation you ever went on, Judge?”

  “I don’t remember. It was years ago.”

  “But you went once?”

  “Well of course, once.”

  “And it was all new. You’d never been before?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Well I’m young, Judge, twenty years younger than you to be precise, and I’ve never been to a timeshare presentation. So, I wanted to go once, just like you did so many years ago, to see what it was all about.”

  “But, but, but it’s like being locked in a room for several hours with six ravenous used car salesmen. They take turns chasing you around and around a single desk in the room, wearing you down. And they won’t let you leave. You’re like a mouse in a maze, pursued by snarling dogs.”

  “I understand the psychology of it, Judge. I’m a high school guidance counselor, remember. But I’d like to see it, experience it, understand what it’s about, just like you were curious to do once.”

  The Judge sighed. Katy had somehow picked up his legally trained way to think, argue and persuade, almost by osmosis or something. Now she used it at will against him with impunity when it suited her. She was really a better advocate than he. In the end, he’d do anything to make her happy, and she knew it.

  “All right,” he sighed. Resigned. “When do we go?”

  “Great, Judge. Three p.m. today. He’ll pick us up out in front. We’ll be back in plenty of time for an early dinner.”

  They wouldn’t be back for their early dinner.... In the end, it turned into the first step of a journey from which they almost didn’t return. They’d look back at the Judge’s knee-jerk reaction to avoid the timeshare presentation and wish they’d heeded his protestations. But that was later, much later.

  The Judge would muse how little we understand the consequences of small decisions like a time-share excursion; taking for granted life among our herd of mammals in our so-called civilization, surrounded by fellow Homo sapiens, a species of walking brains with opposable thumbs and a proclivity for violence.

  CHAPTER 2

  They waltzed out of the hotel lobby at two p.m. sharp into a blinding heat reflected off the sterile concrete retaining wal
ls that held back the mountain into which the resort was carved. It overhung the blue Pacific, a wide sandy beach, and some of the most dangerous surf in the world. The Judge was hotter than Hades on a griddle, damp all over as soon as he’d stepped out of their air-conditioned room.

  The Judge was a tall man. Broad shouldered and big boned. With just a bit of a paunch around the middle, hinting at an appetite for fine wines and fine food. He had the ruddy and rugged chiseled features of Welsh ancestors, a rather too big nose, large ears, and bushy eyebrows. With his big hands and feet and short dark hair, he might have passed for a dock worker in another locale. In many ways, he was unremarkable. Except that he had large piercing blue eyes, intelligent and restless. Except that his eyes swept the space around him continually and missed nothing. Except that he thought like a judge.

  He had a given name, but after he ascended to the bench people began calling him just Judge. Even old friends he’d known for years affectionately adopted the nickname. Back then it had seemed to fit. And somehow it had stuck, even though he was no longer a judge. Now just another L.A. lawyer scrambling for business in an over-crowded profession, the victim of a nasty re-election campaign where he’d been blindsided by unscrupulous opponents bent on stacking the judge pool. Unceremoniously voted off the bench.

  Katy wore a turquoise halter-and-shorts affair that matched her eyes and allowed her breasts to swing provocatively as she moved. Breasts considerably larger now that little Ralphie had arrived, eight months old and dumped with Granddad Ralph and Granddame Florence. Her abdomen stretched the shorts tight, a reminder of the stress child-bearing inflicted on a woman’s body and the difficulty of working one’s weight back down. She was still beautiful, all long blond hair and bright blue eyes set against pale white skin, a few new crinkle lines around her eyes. A testimony to increasing maturity, the rigors of being a mom, and perhaps the stress inherent in living with the Judge and his erratic lifestyle.

  The Judge on the other hand looked ridiculous. And he knew it. Decked out in a florid yellow and green Tommy Bahama shirt, untucked, hanging over a pair of extra-extra-large shorts, puke green, that only emphasized his ever-expanding paunch and his skinny, knobby legs. He looked like a seasick kiwi.

  The young man with the sculpted body was outside to meet them. He’d changed into a white linen shirt, freshly pressed, unbuttoned one too many for the Judge’s liking. He never seemed to sweat. Katy rushed over, gushing a hello, turning to make an introduction to the Judge.

  “Judge, this is Juan, our guide for this afternoon. He’s going to show us some sights, take us to see an exciting timeshare opportunity, introduce us to his grandfather’s taco trunk, and give us some free snorkeling tickets and other goodies. Did I get that all correct, Juan?”

  “Si señorita. A pleasure to meet you, señor.” Juan stuck out a paw to shake, tanned, soft, manicured, and spotless. The Judge resisted an urge to try to pulverize it in his gnarled grip.

  Juan escorted them to his car, freshly washed, smelling of pine, a bright tensile crucifix dangling from the mirror. They were immediately immersed in the kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, and smells of Cabo, the ‘Americanized’ Mexican colony at the tip of Baja California.

  Small bungalows, dilapidated shacks, old dusty stores, smart new American franchise outposts, open-air clubs and tired restaurants shimmered in the heat, competing for space with block after block of sparkling new hotel resorts along the beach. And everywhere, in a glimpse down a side street, or in a suddenly opening panorama at a turn of a corner, stretched the vast blue Pacific to the south. This was Land’s End.

  After thirty minutes of careening around the city, bouncing over potholes, around children and tourists, over partially-dirt tracks with deep ruts, and briefly along the new Coast Highway which spanned to San Jose Del Cabo, Juan pulled the car up into the turn-around of a new hotel skyscraper, perched on the sand overlooking Bahia de Cabo San Lucas, the beach and the bay.

  CHAPTER 3

  Juan handed Katy and the Judge off to a friendly young lady waiting in the hotel portico to meet them. She introduced herself as Mary Whittaker. Mary looked about Katy’s age, late twenties, blond, blue-eyed, with an engaging smile set in a face that had seen too much sun for her white complexion. She wore a white sundress with lace around the edges, and heels which made her wobble a little when she walked. She welcomed them in a Southern drawl that disarmed Katy immediately, giving Katy a hug and telling her how well she looked in the heat. The Judge got a firm handshake, accompanied by a direct look in the eye, seeking to bond.

  The Judge had warned Katy the sales person would immediately ask personal and leading questions, trying to get information, trying to buddy-up close, trying to establish a personal rapport that would make selling them a timeshare easier. He’d told Katy to give the sales person no personal information whatsoever.

  But they’d barely walked into the vast lobby, not yet across to the elevators, and Katy was already blabbing away to her new friend, telling Mary of their new son, her new husband, what the Judge did, where they lived, how there were here in Cabo for R and R because the Judge was a workaholic.

  She was even talking about child-care expense and their household budget, responding to Mary’s questions.

  Son of a bitch!

  The Judge clamped his teeth shut, resisting the rebuke he so wanted to make. Katy had lapsed into uncontrollable chatterbox mode. Meanwhile Mary pumped away for all she was worth, filing away tidbits and emotional soft spots for later fashioning a sales pitch, paving the way to her close.

  They were whisked to the 19th floor Timeshare Sales Suite and out to the balcony for scrumptious hors d’oeuvres, wine, and an over-the-top cheese tray. They looked out over the pool below, the other resort’s two towers to either side, and the vast Cabo Bay. The bay was anchored to the right by The Arch, Cabo’s signature sea-eroded stone landmark, nestled into the cliff at the very tip of the bay, and to the left by a cruise ship looking much like a toy boat from this height, perfectly positioned to hold the left flank. The Judge had to admit it was a spectacular view.

  They watched a four-minute video of enchanting couples swearing how wonderful their timeshare ‘investment’ had been, then back to the lobby and a Mr. Toad’s ride in a golf cart touring the facilities and the beach.

  Mary was now Katy’s best friend. When Mary brought up pets and Katy spoke of the pesky golden retriever the Judge had at home, it turned out that was Mary’s childhood dog too, allowing them to share anecdotes and bond further.

  Mary launched into her personal story, telling how she used to be a ski bum in Colorado in the winter and sell timeshares part time in the summer, but now she had a child to support by herself, and so she was selling timeshares full time in Cabo. Relying on sales income to support the two. It was all very sad and brave. Katy gave Mary another hug, just on general principle.

  Finally, they were taken back to the main tower lobby and Mary pushed the button for the 20th floor, the penthouse floor, which turned out to be mostly a communal area for residents. There was a rec-room, a small gym, a sauna, a jacuzzi, and a small library and lounge, all done up in 18th century English motif.

  There was a swank looking boardroom, long and narrow, across from the hall containing the two elevators and an exit door to stairs, viewed through a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass, punctuated by a glass door in the left corner. Looking through the glass reminded the Judge of a fish bowl; you looked through the room and out an opposite wall of floor-to-ceiling glass framing the extraordinary view of Cabo Bay, The Arch, and the vast Pacific spread to the south. The bay was still sparkly but a deeper blue now the afternoon was receding, small boats darting here and there, one large sailboat, a square rigger, underway near the Arch.

  The boardroom sported a long marble conference table in purples, greys and a hint of tans, under three magnificent chandlers, French antique, rewired, and updated with small powerful spotlights in their middles. The right wall was dark mahogany stripp
ed from some rainforest, with a built-in bar in the interior corner loaded with rare tequilas, legendary Scotch, bourbons, and fancy new brands of vodka and gin.

  An empty bottle of Giacomo Conterno Barolo Monfortino Riserva 2006, $700 on the hoof, sat on the counter, no doubt pulled from the under-bar wine cabinet, which ran for some twelve feet with glass doors, backlit for display. Further along was a built-in cooktop and separate grill, with under-the-counter refrigerator, ice maker, dishwasher, and cabinets, no doubt for china.

  The Judge decided he was ready to move in, air-conditioning and all. But the room was already occupied, and a small plaque on the glass door read: Private. ASAM Board Members Only.

  There were eight people in the room. An older woman and a younger man stood in front of their dark leather high-back chairs, the power chairs at each end of the table, facing each other across its length. Anchoring the right side of the table were another older woman, a rumpled middle-aged man with the look of an attorney, and a young attractive woman, all looking slightly bored, as though they’d heard the same dialogue several times before.

  On the left side of the table sat a young man at the Judge’s end, a very old man at the other end, and a middle-aged guy about the Judge’s age in the middle. A door built into the left paneled wall of the room, closer to the view corner, opened, and another middle-aged man, short, muscular, bearded, stepped out of the executive washroom, leaving the door ajar, sliding into his seat next to the younger man on the right side of the table. He looked vaguely familiar, but the Judge couldn’t place him.

  The two people standing at opposing ends of the conference table were trying to out-shout each other. The older woman with her back to the view end had iron grey hair, snapping pale brown eyes, and looked to be sixty. She wore an expensive looking floral dress of fuchsias, purples and pinks, cut full and flouncy, clearly designer. She had her voice raised and looked angry.