Demon Lover by Kathleen Creighton Page B

"Quién sabe? Who knows? Totuava, grouper, perhaps even lobster—"
    "Lobster!"
    "Oh, sí—it is always so when the men return from the north. There will be a feast—a
fiesta
!" Rita’s dark eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief. "You will be sorry you asked to help; Juanita will teach you to make tortillas."
    They laughed companionably, and then Julie asked casually, forestalling the questions she knew the other woman was trying to summon the courage to ask, "Are you here on vacation?"
    "Well, yes and no. I suppose it is a vacation for Carlito and me, but for Geraldo it is a job."
    "Job?"
    "Yes, of course." Rita glanced up from the stove in surprise. "He works with Señor Chayne and Pepe—you know, helping Sebastien with the tourists."
    "Um…tourists?" At a complete loss, Julie took a stab in the dark. "Fishing?"
    A shadow of confusion crossed Rita’s face. "Well, yes, that too, but Sebastien usually takes care of that part of it. Geraldo and the others take those who want to explore inland. Into the deserts and mountains—hunting and so on. But didn’t you know what Señor Chayne does here?"
    "Not really," Julie said faintly. "I haven’t known him very long."
    Rita smiled gently and nodded, then said surprisingly, "You don’t have to know Señor Chayne very long, do you?" And then, looking embarrassed at herself for having presumed to say such a thing, she hurried on. "They are guides for the tourists, do you understand? Gabriel brings them here in the seaplane. A few stay to fish with Sebastien, but most go into the interior with Geraldo and Pepe and Senior Chayne."
    "I see," Julie murmured, blowing on her coffee. "They take them hunting or exploring, and then bring them back here?"
    "Oh, no—this is only a stopover. They are taken on to the west coast, to the next stop. Comprende?"
    Julie nodded thoughtfully. "So, it is like a guided tour?"
    "Yes, exactly!" Rita said happily. Julie thought she seemed relieved, as if she needed reassurance that it all made sense. She was not a stupid woman. What vague doubts and fears must color her nightmares?
    "And the travel arrangements are handled through this Gabriel?" Julie prodded, keeping her voice bland, her face full of polite interest. "Does he have an agency of some kind?"
    "Yes, yes—at least—" Rita frowned, her busy hands slowing for a moment. "I don’t really know. But I think—"
    She was interrupted by a rapid burst of Spanish from the doorway. Both women jumped like guilty children and jerked around to stare at the woman silhouetted there. She had struck a pose, one hip jutting, one hand on the curve of her waist, and though Julie couldn’t quite make out the expression on her face, she was certain there had been a note of warning in her voice. In any case, the colloquialism she had used was the crude equivalent of "Shut up!"
    Rita’s full mouth tightened with dislike. "Linda," she murmured. "Why don’t you come in? I don’t think you’ve met Señor Chayne’s friend Julie."
    The newcomer undulated into the hut, exaggerating her body movements deliberately in a way that could have been either comical or insulting. Julie watched her with impassive interest. She had a small, triangular face, full lips, large dark eyes, a rather frowzy mass of curls left in purposeful disarray, and a voluptuous body in tight white pants and a striped halter top that left her midriff bare. She was at once younger than Rita and much, much older. Julie had encountered her type before—in the streets of Tijuana.
    "Linda," Rita said with careful courtesy, "is a friend of Pepe’s."
    As Julie nodded her acknowledgment of the introduction, Linda gave a throaty chuckle and lowered herself into a chair. She shook a cigarette out of a pack she carried in her hand, leaned over to light it at the gas flame of a stove burner, then settled back, exhaling smoke and regarding Julie with narrowed eyes through the cloud.
    "Sure—like you are a
friend
of Señor Chayne’s," she