Dance of the Bones

“Good morning, beautiful,” Harold said.

That was a good start. At least he seemed to know who she was this morning; that wasn’t always the case. Not having to begin by explaining who she was made the coming conversation easier.

“I think I’d like to drive down to San Carlos later today,” she said. “It’s been months since I’ve been there. I want to look in on the condo and see to it that everything is in order. I need to make sure the housekeepers are doing their jobs.”

Harold frowned and seemed momentarily mystified. “You know,” she prompted. “Our place in Mexico—-the one on the beach.”

Harold’s nurse came out then to escort him into the house lest he get sunburned. “I’ll be gone for a few days,” Ava told her. “I’m going down to San Carlos. If you need anything or if Harold does, Mrs. Sanchez, the housekeeper, can see to it.”

“Of course,” the nurse said. She didn’t wear a name tag, and Ava had no idea what her name was. A succession of home health nurses had come and gone with very little fanfare. There was no reason to try remembering who they were.

With Ava’s intentions clear to all concerned, she went about a leisurely job of packing. It wasn’t a matter of emptying her walk--in closet. She didn’t want to take too much. It was important that everyone believe she didn’t plan on being gone more than a -couple of days. She did, however, clean out the safe, taking all her traveling money as well as her various forms of forged government ID. Those went into the false bottom of her midsize Louis Vuitton case.

Once she had the last shipment of diamonds in hand, the gems would need to be cleaned and dried. These days she could barely stand the smell of peanut butter, much less the greasy feel of the stuff, but after it was scrubbed away, the last of diamonds would go into that hidden compartment as well, beneath her casual beachwear clothing, underwear, and day--to--day makeup. The false bottom wasn’t good enough to pass muster with a TSA inspection at an airport, but she’d be able to breeze through the highway checkpoints with no problem.

The larger Louis Vuitton bag was loaded and ready to go. It contained her various costume changes—-a collection of outfits, along with various wigs, scarves, and makeup. All those, taken together, created any number of disguises that coincided with each of her IDs. The woman who went through one Border Patrol checkpoint would appear to be someone else entirely when she arrived at the next one.

Ava had always known this day would come—-a time when she would need to disappear. Now that it was here, she was both excited and wistful. She’d enjoyed living in this place at the top of the heap, but she was tired of having to look after Harold—-not that she did the caretaking herself. She was tired of being responsible for him and for his caretakers.

If she’d had clear title to the house, Ava might have hung around long enough for Harold to die so she could inherit the place and live there from then on as Harold’s well--set widow. But Harold’s son, Jack, had queered that deal. Marital trust my ass! Nope, Ava Richland was leaving, and not on a jet plane, either.