A Brilliant Plan

Chapter 33

THE NEXT MORNING, sunshine fell into the room, friendly sun. I blinked and found Ron snoring under some newspaper on the small couch near the window. My bags were stored in the corner. A quick cat stretch brought me back to reality, my back hurt like hell.

A hot and cold shower and an inspection in the mirror, half of my back was black-bluish-green. I dressed, did my hair and opened the bathroom door to face Ron.

"I hope you were not peeping," I confronted him good heartedly.

"It took a long time, I wasn't sure whether there was another guy in there to kill you," he said deadpan.

"Flushed him down the drain. Get used to women blocking the bath."

"At least you got your wit back."

While I did some inspection of my stuff and Ron had a quick shower, the Mexican TV news channel showed the hotel, the broken window and a white sheet over the piece of meat that had been my assailant.

I couldn't understand half of it but the story was simple enough. Attacker in hotel room. American woman defended herself; assassin fell out of the window in fight. Police still investigating.

"Ever been in the news before?" Ron was drying his hair, very sexy look. Unfortunately, he was dressed completely again.

"Hope they didn't mention my name," I said dryly, switching off the set and tying my sneakers.

"I called Lobos while you were in the bathroom. He will meet us for breakfast downstairs in a few minutes."

"Breakfast sounds good," I conceded.

We rode down in the elevator, both uncomfortable with our feelings after my attempt last night.

The breakfast room was empty. The clock showed ten o'clock and the business people were already gone. Some idle tourists, mostly American by clothing, were reading USA Today, sipping juice and shoveling eggs. That is exactly what I did.

"What became of that health conscious girl I came to know in California?" Ron said reproachfully, glancing at the assortment of pure unhealthy fat on my plate.

"Stepping out on a tenth floor ledge, chased by a madman repositions your approach toward healthy food," I said, ignoring him otherwise.

After I filled my stomach with four helpings of everything and at least a gallon of excellent Mexican coffee, I sat back and watched Ron watching me.

Lobos finally arrived. His brimming good-humored self gave me a peck on my outstretched hand. He sat down and more coffee appeared like magic a moment later. "My dear, how do you feel this morning?" He asked.

"Stop mothering me, you... father figures," I smiled weakly. "I am well, as well as I can be."

"Let me compliment you again on your fast reaction. That sap on the head would have killed you for sure," Lobos patted my hand.

"It was largely luck and speed. Who is the man?" I asked.

"Who was the man?" Lobos corrected me. "In a way, you made my job a lot easier. Just yesterday, we were asking ourselves who of the curators might have traded the Maximilian Jewels. And right this morning, the puzzle is solved."

"You mean my assassin was one of the museum curators?" I asked disbelieving.

Lobos nodded gravely. "That was my reaction exactly, and I have seen a lot of strange cases in my time." Lobos flipped open a slim file folder that showed a blown up driver's license photo. "Stephano Toledo. Art degree, specialized in Jewelry and Gemstones, studied in Mexico City and Florence, Italy. He was 36 years old, not married and no girlfriend."