Margaritas & Murder by Jessica Fletcher

all your tricks. You’re going on an adventure . You said so yourself. I heard you compare this trip with the Pony Express. Aren’t you a little old for adventures?”
    “I’m not dead yet, thank you. And a little excitement never killed anyone.”
    “So you admit you’re expecting something to happen.”
    “I admit no such thing.”
    “Is this to impress your girlfriend?”
    “What are you saying?”
    “You don’t think I see how Sarah rolls her eyes at you. I may be farsighted, but I’m not blind. Is all of this to show her how young you really are?”
    “Now you’re being ridiculous. But I’m flattered that you’re jealous.”
    “Don’t change the topic.”
    “Me? You brought her up.”
    “Vaughan, be reasonable. Look what happened to Jessica, and she wasn’t transporting bank drafts and checks and valuable packages. You’ll be a sitting duck for any thug who knows the routine or keeps an eye on the border.”
    “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Woody has driven this route many, many times. He’s even brought his son along at times. He’s certainly not going to risk his flesh and blood.”
    “Let him take his son this time if it’s so safe.”
    “The boy doesn’t want to go, and I do.”
    “What about our time together? You could be stuck at the border for days, Vaughan.”
    “I’ll make it up to you.”
    “And that’s assuming they even let you back in the country with all that booty.”
    “We’re not pirates carrying treasure. We’re merely picking up the mail—letters, magazines, bills, most likely. And I’m hoping to collect a manuscript from a promising new author. It’s nothing of value to anyone other than the recipients. There will be no problem getting back into Mexico. Woody says he knows all the border guards and they know him.”
    “Who says the border guards are honest?”
    “Give the man a break. He spent thirty years in military intelligence. He knows which ones to trust.”
    “Vaughan, I’ve never asked you to sacrifice anything for me. I’m asking you, begging you, not to go. Tell Woody whatever you like. Make up a story. But please, don’t take this trip.”
    “He’s going to be here any moment, Olga, and my bag is already at the door.”
    Their voices faded as they walked downstairs.
    The sun had barely peeked over the horizon. Even so, I’d been awake for a while, my circadian rhythms still on Eastern time. But I hadn’t gotten out of bed, believing that if I lay still with my eyes closed, I might be lucky enough to drift off and catch another hour’s sleep. However, circumstances conspired against me. With the reverberation of competing church bells, what sounded like a rooster crowing, and the Buckleys’ quarrel, all hope of revisiting the land of Nod evaporated. I rose, showered, dressed quickly, and made my way downstairs to the kitchen.
    Vaughan and Olga were seated at a table in front of open French doors that led to the colonnade and the courtyard beyond, where the stone pavers glowed pink in the early sunlight. The sound of birds chirping in the acacia tree provided background music to the lovely cool breeze that wafted inside. The beautiful morning was wasted on the Buckleys, who sipped their coffee in silence, each consumed with thoughts of the upcoming trip, and of each other.
    Maria Elena bustled around the kitchen, stirring a pan of eggs and tomatoes on the stove and checking the toast she was baking in the oven. “Good morning, Señora. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like some coffee to start?”
    “Good morning,” I said. “Coffee would be wonderful.”
    “Good morning,” Vaughan said, rising and forcing a smile.
    “Oh, Jessica, did we wake you? I’m so sorry,” Olga said, looking up from the newspaper that was folded on the table next to her cup.
    “Not at all,” I replied. “I’m still on New York time. It usually takes a day or so before I’m acclimated to a new schedule.”
    “Come,