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  The younger man standing at the hallway end of the conference table had his back to the Judge. But he turned briefly to look out at the Judge and Katy, perhaps feeling their eyes on his back. He was about thirty. A lean face with small dark eyes, angry now.

  He turned back to continue his harangue against the older woman, pointing an accusing finger, yelling over her in a loud voice, the sound bouncing off the separating glass and carrying through.

  As the Judge, Katy and Mary watched, entranced by the drama, the grey-haired woman glanced at a cell phone in her hand, then turned her back on the finger-pointer in mid-spiel, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of a purse on the table, and marched the length of the room, past her young antagonist and out the glass door in front of the Judge, back stiff, head held high. She briskly stepped around the three, Katy and Mary big-eyed, opened the exit door across from the elevators, and slammed it closed behind her. They heard the click-click of her heels marching upstairs.

  “Well,” said Mary, “someone’s having a bad-hair day.”

  Mary pushed the button for the 21st floor. This proved to be the roof. It had a large patio, partially covered with a trellis, from which the entire complex and bay could be viewed in a 180-degree panorama. At the far corner of the patio the grey-haired lady sat on the low parapet, face toward the bay, playing with her lighter.

  When Mary saw the lady, she tried to hustle them back to the elevator. Apologetic. Whispering the woman was the CEO of the company that owned the project. But the Judge wouldn’t be herded.

  “Go ahead ladies, I want a picture of this view. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Mary saw the opportunity to work on Katy alone and acquiesced, taking Katy back to the elevator and disappearing with her inside. The Judge brought his cell phone out and moved to the roof parapet to take his shot, leaving a discreet distance between himself and the grey-haired lady. She turned to watch him, waved a hand in a friendly, old fashioned way, then returned to her cigarette, drawing in deep puffs the way some smokers do, staring out at the bay and the boats.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Judge ambled back to the elevators and returned to the 19th floor to find Katy, glass of wine in hand, engaged in girl talk with Mary.

  As the Judge settled into their little table on the balcony, Mary turned to the Judge and formally launched her pitch.

  “So, let me show you how it works, Judge. This is not really a timeshare you know.”

  “Oh,” said the Judge, doubtful.

  "Seriously, it's not. This is just an old fashioned great deal. For ninety-eight thousand dollars, you are investing in something where you become a part owner!”

  “And that gets me what?” asked the Judge.

  “Two weeks,” Mary said. “Two weeks of paradise.”

  “That sounds like a lot of money.”

  “Oh, but it’s not, Judge. This is your forever dream vacation! And it’s not really ninety-eight thousand because we have financing. For you, for today, for here and now, all you put down is ninety-eight hundred. You’d normally spend more than that over… what? Perhaps two years of vacations. This is a great deal.”

  The Judge just looked at her, deadpan, letting the silence build.

  “How much are you spending on this trip, Katy?” Mary turned to address the weakest link.

  “About $4,000 per week,” blurted Katy, before the Judge could kick her under the table.

  Mary produced a small calculator from somewhere, much like a magician produces a rabbit, and drew boxes, arrows and numbers on a white pad of paper, explaining quickly how much the Judge and Katy would spend on vacations over their joint lives if they used their trip as an average.

  “Two weeks a year, thirty years, you could easily spend a hundred and fifty thousand,” Mary declared with triumph, turning the pad so the Judge could see a bunch of meaningless squiggles, boxes, arrows and numbers.

  Suddenly a salesman got up from another table on the balcony, a sheaf of papers under one arm, leaving a young couple who looked recently married gazing out at the view. He marched over to an antique-looking Chinese gong standing beside the water cooler, picked up its mallet, and gave it a healthy blow.

  Bonnnnng.

  “Whoops,” said Mary. “There goes another unit. These are selling fast, Katy. We should look at the floor plans while I can still guarantee a choice.”

  Katy bit her lip, looking to the Judge for direction.

  “We don’t vacation that much,” said the Judge.

  “You can rent the unit out under our hotel plan when you’re not using it.”

  “We wouldn’t want to always come back to Cabo.”

  “You can trade your time through our swap time program with some forty hotels around the world. Perhaps you’d like to go to Paris one year, Rome the next, and then Tahiti. This opportunity is going to cost you only about four hundred and seventy-three dollars per month. Come on Judge, this is a great deal. Is there anything else preventing you from buying right now?”

  “It’s too much for us,” said the Judge, trying to put some finality into his voice.

  “Oh. Well hold on a second. Let me call over my manager."

  The manager was introduced as George, a nice enough looking guy, except for the crocodile eyes hidden behind his dark rimmed glasses.

  "Hi Mary, what's going on?”

  “The Judge says that four seventy-three is too much.”

  “Too much! Did you explain everything? The accommodations? The benefits? The fact that you can travel anywhere? You can sell the weeks you don't use?”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes. He said.... He said that they can't afford it right now.” Mary looked very disappointed.

  “Hmmmm.... Hold on a minute, Judge. Let me check back in my office. There was a memo from an owner who wanted to sell. Just sent me this morning.”

  George darted away before the Judge could protest, returning three minutes later.

  “Okay guys. How does three fifty-four a month sound?”

  George pushed another white paper with unintelligible boxes, arrows and numbers across the table at the Judge with a flourish. Mary’s countenance turned to hopeful.

  “We don’t have that sort of excess cash in our budget right now,” said the Judge.

  George looked like he’d taken a blow to the stomach, all gaping mouth and gasping. “But it’s a wonderful price.”

  Mary and George talked it over, classic good guy bad guy, George arguing they’d never see a deal like this again, Mary pleading for more adjustment, so it could be squeezed into their budget. Katy and the Judge watched like spectators at a ping pong match, back and forth, back and forth, the Judge unable to get a word in edgewise. It was as though they didn’t exist.

  A third person stopped by the table in the middle of one of Mary’s serves, asking Katy what was holding them back.

  “We can’t afford it,” muttered the Judge at him.

  The Judge peeked at Katy. She caught him looking at her and gave him a mischievous smile. She was enjoying this, watching with fascination as the salespeople circled their prey, looking for an opening that might clinch a sale. And she enjoyed watching the Judge, batting them away each time they darted in for the kill. Then he felt Katy’s shoe gently rubbing his foot under the table. Did this mean he could end the game, go back to the cool hotel, maybe get lucky with his new wife in their fancy digs? He wanted that. It was going to be a smashing vacation.

  Finally, Mary and George were done, Mary putting an arm on Katy’s sleeve to say, “Okay, we have another option. A fifteen-year vacation plan for two thirty-six a month. Some of the perks are not included, but I’m sure it will fit your budget. The rooms aren't quite as nice, but they’re still very good. It's only one week per year but you can always upgrade to our regular plan."

  “No,” said the Judge.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I said no. We are not buying a timeshare.”

  There was a stunned silence as Mary and George look
ed at each other. Then George snatched his papers back, got up, and muttered under his breath, “I’ll send Jeff over to do the exit survey, Mary. You’d best get back out and find a more serious buyer.”

  Mary’s face collapsed. She looked like she might cry. Katy put her hand on top of Mary’s arm to console. But the Judge couldn’t take any more of the theater. He was hot, and he was tired. Again. These people had had the 90 minutes Katy had committed. He was damn well ready to go back to his air-conditioned room at their hotel, have a serious drink, and some good sex.

  He ignored Mary’s histrionics, turning in his chair, taking one last look across the balcony to the view, all water and sky to the horizon. Blue on blue. As he did so, an apparition floated across his view, just off the balcony’s bannister, almost in slow motion. A grey head, upside down, parallel to the balcony, looking up, face contorted, eyes squeezed shut, mouth in a silent scream. The body jack-knifed in its fall. Fuchsias, purples and pinks of fabric twisted in the wind around scrawny legs in support stockings stretched skyward, the last to disappear.

  Jesus, someone just fell off the roof!

  CHAPTER 5

  Mary screamed. Standing by the watercooler, George spilled coffee over the front of his pants, muttering, “son-of-a-bitch.” Jeff, the exit man on his way over to subject them to one last ditch sales harangue, dropped his papers and rushed to the rail beside the Judge, who had leaped from his chair. Katy looked around puzzled. She’d had her back to the view.

  The female half of the young married couple started to wail, pointing toward the balcony, their salesman and her husband mystified. The gong-ringer stopped in mid-stroke of another bong, having glimpsed fuchsias, purples and pinks out of the corner of his eye in a place that should have been all blue.

  The Judge peered over the rail, 19 stories down, at the crumpled lump on the concrete below, partially covered by a flowered dress. Not moving. Then he dashed for the elevator, shouting, “Call nine-one-one!”

  The Judge was first on the scene, quickly followed by a gardener who’d been working on the grounds, and Jeff the exit man, who’d grabbed the elevator behind him.

  It wasn’t a pretty sight.

  It was the older lady who’d left the boardroom meeting to smoke on the roof patio. She’d landed on her back and her head, exposing grey matter across the back of her skull, blending with the iron-grey hair, soaked now with red. Blood pooled under her with other liquids of death as her muscles let go.

  Her arms and legs sprawled away at odd angles, like some stick-picture gone wrong. The fuchsia, purple and pink dress twisted around her core like a Gordian knot. One red pump was still on her foot, the other several feet away. Her pale brown eyes were open to the sun, but didn’t blink. He checked for a pulse at her neck. There was none.

  Her forearms had fine cuts, as did the palms of her hands. Curious, since she’d obviously landed on her back. Maybe she’d scraped them along the side of the building as she fell. As he bent closer he caught a whiff of something. What was it? Vaguely familiar. But he couldn’t place it.

  “Is she alive, señor?” the gardener asked. The Judge shook his head. The gardener trotted over to his lawn cart and retrieved a dusty tarp which he brought back and gently spread over her body.

  More people were spilling out of the building behind them now. Including a knot of people who looked to be the participants in the board meeting on the 20th floor. Shock and horror were etched across faces. Even the young man who’d been yelling at her in the boardroom looked appalled, color drained from his face.

  The Judge stood up and stepped back into the crowd, looking for Katy. He saw her and edged his way toward her, suddenly coming to a stop against a short rotund Mexican moving forward, inquisitive dark eyes staring up at him above a pug nose and manicured Hitler-style mustache. The faint smell of garlic wafted between them as the man stood his ground, refusing to move so the Judge could pass.

  “Where do you think you’re going, señor?” It was more command than question.

  “To join my wife. Who are you?”

  “Policía. I think it’s better if you retrace your steps to where you were, bending over the body.”

  The Judge sighed, threw his hands up in a classic helpless gesture to Katy, turned and threaded his way back toward the body.

  The Policía guy followed, his short legs moving double time to keep up with the Judge, giving the Judge a bit of mean satisfaction. He was very short, and very rotund, mid-forties, dressed in a tight-fitting dark suit with vertical stripes, emphasizing what little height he had, augmented by long black hair, piled in a pompadour across the top of his head, and a long narrow tie with vertical purple stripes on a dark field. His dark dress shoes looked to have an extra half inch in the heel, buttressing him further, and he walked formally and very erect. The Judge supposed if you were truly a short man, and particularly a policeman, you’d do whatever you had to do.

  What had been the grey-haired lady looked no better. Someone had removed the tarp. Eyes stared at the sky again without luster. The ever-expanding puddle under the body spread further the scent of death.

  The Policía guy now turned back to the crowd, holding his hands high, speaking first in Spanish and then in English with a slight accent.

  “Nobody leaves. Everybody goes back to the sales office on the nineteenth floor, and I mean everybody. We’re going to sort this all out.” He was silent for ten seconds, as though counting them out. Then he snarled in English, “Now!”

  The Judge could see three uniformed police officers and another suit herding the crowd, including the gardener, back toward the entry to the tower with the sales office, like sheepdogs herding their flock. Katy was in the middle, caught up in the flow, carried along into the tower lobby.

  As the Judge turned and started to follow, Señor Policía thrust an arm out, blocking his path. “Not you, señor.”

  The Judge’s head snapped up. Jesus. He was hot, he was sticky, and he was tired. This was the final straw.

  “Look amigo, I’m a U.S. citizen, a retired judge, and an active member of the California Bar. I’d like to see your badge and your card. I want to understand your rank, and I’d like to know how you just happened to be here so Johnny-on-the-spot when this occurred. And where the Hell is the paramedic team?”

  The rotund Mexican just looked at the Judge, his jaw thrust out. Since he was short he had to look up, giving the Judge a certain primitive satisfaction. But it didn’t seem to bother the policeman. He didn’t budge. They stared at each other like that for perhaps ten seconds, each letting the silence drag.

  One of the uniforms started to stride over, unsnapping his holster. Señor Policía held up one hand, stopping him. He slowly reached into his pocket and withdrew a small leather case, flipping it open to display a badge on the bottom and a credentials card on the top. He held it out. The Judge leaned over to take a careful look, each playing out their part in the pantomime in slow motion. The Judge nodded. The other man snapped it shut and returned it to his inside pocket. He was Chief Inspector Alejandro Garcia of the Cabo San Lucas Police Department. A big name and a big title for a short guy, mused the Judge.

  The Judge slowly reached into his puke green shorts and produced his wallet, extracted a card from it labeled ‘Rent a Judge’, and handed it over to the Chief Inspector, who took a similarly long time examining it, then a further time looking up at the Judge, mouthing the words ‘Rent a Judge’ with a smirk, before placing it in his pocket. Jesus, the Judge didn’t like this guy.

  “So why are you singling me out, Mr. Chief Inspector Garcia? Out from everybody else?”

  “Simple,” he said, Mr.… ehh.”.

  “They call me ‘Judge’, and exactly what’s so simple?”

  “You’re the person kneeling over her body when the others arrived. And from some inquiries reported by my lieutenant, you’re the last person to see the deceased alive.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Do you know who she was?” />
  “The CEO of the company that owns this project?”

  “Oh no, señor. Yes, but oh no. More, much more than that. Señora María Cervantes was one of the richest women in Mexico!”

  CHAPTER 6

  Chief Inspector Garcia escorted the Judge back to the center building, through the lobby, and onto the elevator, staying close. The Chief Inspector pushed the button for the 19th floor, the sales office. They didn’t speak. The Judge silently wished someone would give the Chief Inspector some gum or something to calm the garlic, which permeated the closed elevator space they shared like an invisible cloud. The man seemed blissfully unaware, contentedly sucking a toothpick from his recent lunch.

  The 19th floor, relatively empty before, was now crowded with the boardroom group, the sales staff, the lone gardener, the newlyweds, Katy, three uniformed police, and now the Judge and the Chief Inspector. The sales staff and the boardroom group had collected at separate ends, with the rest slumped on chairs and couches in the middle.

  The Judge headed for the sales office group. These included Mary Whittaker, George the sales manager with the crocodile eyes, and Jeff, the exit survey guy qua final closer. They were huddled in the far corner of the room, as was Katy, looking relieved to see the Judge. This group also included other sales people the Judge had seen on the floor, and the young couple, still looking into each other’s eyes, oblivious to their surroundings.

  Infatuation was grand he supposed, if only it could last. It never did. The human animal was built with a bias for change; anything that lingered too long became old, staid and less interesting, hardly competition for new baubles and sparkles that beckoned. We sprang from a line of clever mountain monkeys, down from the rocks, hard-wired to follow our innate curiosity and leave the commonplace behind.