Nothing further had been said to me other than the threat. Earl and his two cohorts were quiet through the flight. I felt like I had gone from the frying pan into the fire.
When they walked me into the main house we were greeted by an older Spanish housekeeper and we were led to a big flower-filled solarium where an older Mexican man was tending flowers.
He was short, stocky, and grey-haired, with a weather-worn face. He was at least 60, if not 70. He looked at me and then motioned to a small bistro table that had been set with a tea set and a plate with little triangle crustless sandwiches.
“Please sit,” he said. He had a strong Mexican accent.
I sat.
“You, my dear, have the misfortune of being a pawn in a game, I’m afraid. But you’ll be safe here, provided the Clarke family meets m
