Planet Lara: Tempest

1. The Visitor

One

The Visitor

Jacinta Ramirez—my dead mother’s friend, the woman in the photo wrapped around Cordelia in the open door of her plane—sets the weighty rock with the smudged black letters warning of trouble on the beach on the breakfast bar. I’ve moved around to the other side to put the counter, and Finan’s weird present, between us. But then Jacinta raises both arms and I realize the knife I’ve just slid from its spot in the butcher block is a little overkill.

“What happened to your hand?” I ask. Her right arm stops at the wrist, at the joint, the skin tucked over the blunt end.

She smiles. “Every choice comes with a cost. Can we dispense with the theatrics?” She nods at my raised weapon.

“You’re not going to hurt me?”

Jacinta rests her forearms on the bar and pulls her long, black ponytail over her shoulder, an eyebrow lifted.

She was just sitting in the chair, waiting. She did turn on a light rather than shove a lethal weapon between my ribs.

“Fine.” I put the knife away. “How did you get in?”

Jacinta twists and looks around the cabin. “I like what you’ve done with the place. I watched them finish building it. I wondered if you’d make it over here.”

“Over where?”

“To Archibald’s island.”

How did she finish watching them build it?

She points at the opened present. “I’m guessing those aren’t glass slippers?”

“Not quite.”

“He’s a good man. At least what I’ve seen, what Rupert has told me.” She leans forward far enough to peek into the box. “Strange taste in presents. Your mom hated pickles.”

I chuckle, the jar blurred through my wet eyes. “I am so f*****g tired right now.”

“Yes, it has been a long night for you.”

I look up, silver streaks in her black hair visible under the pendant lights hanging over the breakfast bar. She’s just as beautiful as she was in the photograph, albeit older.

“Do you have anything to drink?”

“Uhh, yes. I can make tea, or—” I check the fridge. Two bottles of Finan’s favorite beer. My heart squeezes. “There’s fresh orange juice—”

“Something harder. Like I said, I thought we might … talk.”

I open the freezer and retrieve the vodka I stole from the Tipping Point that fateful night just two weeks ago—has it already been two weeks since Kelly Lockhart barfed the sensational details of my mother’s misdeeds to the whole of Thalia Island?

Yes, Lara, it has, which is why she and her cheap mascara and icky boy toy are in an RCMP transport making their way to Jail Town.

I set the frosted bottle on the counter between us, followed by two glasses. “I don’t much like Russians, but I will drink their country’s identity,” Jacinta Ramirez says. She pours and downs her first shot with a loud sigh and a shiver. I sip mine—I am weary from the long night, and too many unanswered questions litter the floor already.

She helps herself to a refill but doesn’t throw it all down her throat. “I will answer the easy stuff first. I’ve told you my name. I am from Mexico City, the third of eight children. What is left of my family is beholden to the Sinaloa Cartel that runs roughshod over our country. I am not going to fill your head with clichés about Mexico or her people—our shared neighbor does a good enough job with that.” She sips. “Your mother was my best friend, my business partner, and my lover. She was the most amazing and frustrating human I’ve ever known or ever will know.” Another sip, her eyes sparkling in the light. “I have been living on Thalia Island for over a year”—she throws her thumb over her shoulder—“in the woods.”

“And you know Rupert.”

Her laugh startles me. “Of course, Lara Jo. How do you think I got to be here, in this beautiful place?”

No one other than my mother or grandfather has ever called me Lara Jo. I’m not sure if I should be angry or warmed by her use of it.

Humboldt barks from the porch. It echoes like the roar of a giant. “I’ll get him,” Jacinta says. As she opens the screen, Humboldt slides through and wags his butt like he does for Finan. Guessing they’ve met before …

Thanks for the heads-up, slobber dog.

Jacinta crouches and scrubs his head and ears with her one hand; he whimpers and whines and bathes her face with his tongue. She then says something to him in Spanish, and he flops onto his back and shows her his belly.

“Oh, come on, Humboldt, a little self-respect.”

Jacinta pats his chest and rejoins me at the bar. “The next most obvious question is how the hell did I get on to your island.”

“Probably a good place to start.”

“There’s a bunker here. Your grandfather built it years ago. Rupert gave me the keys and made some upgrades.”

“And you’ve been here a year. Without anyone knowing.”

“I’m good at hiding.”

“Obviously.” I sip the vodka, unappreciative of the burn in my throat. “I don’t understand why.”

“Because there are people in the world who want me dead. Rupert, thankfully, is not one of those people. He offered me sanctuary, and I took it.”

“People …”

“Mostly my brothers. Two of them have moved up the ranks in the Sinaloa Cartel. We had a disagreement.” She shrugs and lifts her handless arm.

“A disagreement.”

“A person can learn to live with one hand. Living without a head is much harder.” She grins and finishes her drink, pouring a third. “But I don’t want to talk about my family squabbles. I’m retired from all that now, living the good life,” she says, lifting her glass. “Please tell me how Rupert is doing. I haven’t talked to him in a few days.”

In a few days. So they’re talking on the regular. She’s been on this f*****g island and he didn’t tell me?

“He’s sick. The treatment sucks.” I press my fingers into my tired, burning eyes. I need to take off my makeup—my face is sticky and gross. “Jacinta, why are you here, in my house, tonight?”

“I thought you could use some moral support. After the showdown at the town hall and Finan leaving—”

“How do you know about all this?”

A sly smirk edges across her face as she reaches into the Velcro’d pocket of her cargo pants. From it, she pulls out a smartphone with a bigger screen than my iPhone’s. She sets it on the counter, swipes it open, and then holds it up.

Nine small black-and-white boxes consume the rectangular face of the device. “Surveillance?”

“Do you honestly think Archibald Clarke would leave his precious island unprotected?”

My thoughts race—there’s been surveillance this whole time? Did Rupert know? Did he lie to me about it? Why would he do that? Is there anything on this the RCMP could use?

“Why now? Why are you here now?” I flatten my hands on the counter, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. “None of this makes any sense.”

“It does. And it will. Again, we don’t have to unpack everything tonight. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here, and I’ve got you covered.”

I snort and take a drink. “Mm-hmm, I’ve heard that before.”

“Your mom used to say that we should never let the sun go down on our anger—read it in a book she loved as a kid. Seems the sun not only went down on your anger but the source of it got on a boat and skipped town.”

“I am not talking about Finan with you.” Humboldt plants himself next to me, his droopy eyes and lolling tongue asking for a cookie.

“Your dog seems to like him,” Jacinta says behind me as I yank free a Greenie from Humboldt’s treat drawer. “That accounts for something.”

“Like I’d let an animal pick my boyfriends.”

“Animals have better instincts than humans.”

I slam the drawer closed. “OK, well, this has been fun, but I am really, really tired, and unless you have something super interesting to share with me tonight, I’m wondering why our little reunion couldn’t have waited one more night, considering I don’t even remember meeting you, like, ever.”

Jacinta polishes off the vodka in her glass and slides it away, screwing the cap back on the near-empty bottle. “I promised your mother I would look after you. Since I couldn’t do that when you were young, I am going to make amends by being available to you for whatever you might need—”

“As long as it involves staying hidden on Thalia Island.”

“Yes.”

“And monitoring with your little magical cameras I didn’t even know existed.”

“The cameras aren’t mine. They’re Archibald’s, or now yours, I suppose. I simply live in the space they feed into. I will take you to the bunker when you’re ready. It’s impossible to find if you don’t know where you’re going.”

“Again, this doesn’t make any sense …”

“It will.” She smiles. “I’m glad you got rid of those horrible people.”

I nudge the rock on the counter. “Thanks for the tip about the beach that night, although knocking on the door would’ve worked too.”

“And ruin the intrigue?” She flaps her hand at me.

“Wait—did you know about them before? That they were here?”

“No. I knew Kelly Lockhart was not good for Thalia, but their involvement with the cult was a terrible surprise.”

“And you found out from—”

“Rupert.”

“Of course.” When he’s done with cancer, I’m going to kick his posh British ass.

She pulls her ponytail over her shoulder.

“The photo of you and my mom in the plane …”

“Cessna 208 Caravan. Her second love, after you, before me.” Jacinta smiles.

“Did she die in that plane? My grandfather looked for her. Like—you’re not here to drop some big reveal that she’s actually alive.”

Jacinta’s expression darkens. “She died, Lara. I’m sorry I can’t bring a happier ending to that story.”

“I don’t even know the story. I know she had a plane. She flew around the world taking incredible photographs, she allegedly flew drugs for bad guys and opened some schools and clinics, and then she died. We had a memorial service, planted a tree, and installed a bronze plaque, after which I was expected to move on and forget about her.” The box where I keep all these emotions tightly bound tears at the seams. “Honestly, I can’t do this tonight.”

Jacinta rounds the bar, and before I can protest, she envelops me with her strong body. Over her shoulder, Humboldt watches, half his green, bone-shaped cookie hanging from his jaw.

She pushes back and stares at my exhausted face. “You are her spitting image, you know.” A lone tear runs down Jacinta’s cheek. It dawns on me—I’m not the only one in pain over Cordelia Clarke’s absence. “She loved you very much.”

My throat is too tight to speak, so I step out of her reach.

Jacinta wipes her face with her sleeve and clears her throat, that wide smile returning. “There is much more to say, but this is a good start.” She turns, pauses to kiss Humboldt’s head, and then moves toward the corner chair where a heavy, dark-green flannel shirt rests over the back. I hadn’t even noticed it. “One night, when you’re a bit more settled, I will show you the bunker. Safer to move around when the island is asleep.”

I open my mouth to protest but then realize I will have nothing else going on at night, now that Finan is off the island. Plus, I have questions. A lot of questions.

“Oh—can I get a few rolls of toilet paper?” Jacinta says. “With Rupert away, my stores are a little low and I’ve cleaned out his cabin’s supply.”

Such a mundane request but it’s so out of place in this intense moment, I laugh. A quick trip to the hall closet and I return with a sealed eight-pack of two-ply.

Jacinta tucks it under her arm. “And I promise, too, soon we’ll talk about that thumb drive.”

My heart hammers again. The thumb drive. The password-protected folder labeled JR.

“How—”

“Good night, Lara Jo.” The door whooshes closed behind her. I rush to open it again, to yell after her to give me the password, but she’s been swallowed by the dark.