"What the fuck are you doing?" Mulberry pulled alongside me, leaning out of his open window, scowling. "Get back in the fucking RV. We're not there, yet." He rolled up his window and waited, looking straight ahead into the darkness. I climbed back into the sturdy old RV, and, soaked to the bone, started to drive again.
For three hours, we continued on the same road. Fluorescent-lit low buildings slid by in the darkness, advertising gas and tacos. My night vision made shadows into monsters, and the empty desert filled with motion. Part of it was the rain, so rare to that region that it seemed to delight in all the open space. Drops fell thick and straight, and then they came from the left, and suddenly from the right. My headlights, like a stagnant spotlight on a troupe of dancers, caught the movements in brief glimpses.
When we reached Puerto Penasco, the rain was gone, though it left the city a mess. The major roads were paved, but many of the side streets, especially those that ran along the ocean, had turned to mud. Mulberry, in the Jeep, sped ahead of me, fishtailing on the slippery surface. I could almost see the smile on his face. I followed at a more reasonable speed, though with little more control. Mulberry turned into an RV camp, and I followed, nearly taking off a side mirror on the sign that read, "Playa de Oro RV Resort."
Inside the park, a stucco building meant to look like a welcoming hacienda housed the office. I saw Mulberry talking to a woman behind the counter. I waited in the truck. All around me, RVs rested in the dark. This was a place where people came for extended stays. Most of the RVs had tables and chairs set out with sun umbrellas. In one window, I saw a TV playing an old black and white movie. Most of the people here were retired, spending the winter of their golden years on the warm beaches of Mexico.
Mulberry stepped back out into the night and paused to light a cigarette. He'd started smoking again in, I think, Tennessee… or was it Arkansas? Either way, the tip of his cigarette glowed as he approached. "Got us a spot right on the water," he said. "I'll show you where." I nodded, and he moved off toward the Jeep. I couldn't see the water, but I could smell it, and if I strained, I could hear it over the rumble of my engine. Mulberry turned down a lane lined with RVs, and waved me toward an empty space, sparks flying off the tip of his cigarette.
I pulled into the spot and found myself staring out into the blackness that is the ocean at night. Turning the engine off, I listened to the soft lapping of the waves. A lump formed in my throat and tears burned in my eyes. It was all too much. I was filled with relief but also terror. Where the fuck was I and what the fuck had become of my life?
The sound of Mulberry hooking the RV up to the power and water supply snapped me out of it. I wiped my tears with my still damp T-shirt. Mulberry came in the side door and looking at me said, "You should change into something dry then we'll get something to eat."
Climbing out of the driver's seat, I passed through the living room and kitchen. Pushing aside the curtain that provided "privacy" for the bedroom, I smiled at Blue who was sitting up on the bed panting. Not exactly an amazing hiding spot for a giant dog, but we figured if Border Patrol boarded us, Blue was the least of our worries. I untied Blue's leash and he jumped down headed for the door. I peeled off my shirt, kicked off my sandals and struggled with my wet jeans, tipping onto the bed. I was sitting on more than just a mattress and some sheets. Underneath me was millions of dollars worth of stolen treasure. Gold coins, valuable jewels all hidden away in the most obvious of places: under the fucking bed.
I pushed my pants off. "Come on, I'm hungry," Mulberry yelled from the other room. Sitting up, I opened my closet and pulled out dry jeans and a dirty, though not wet, long sleeve. The only thing left in there was a rain coat. Funny, I thought, as I closed the closet door.
We took the Jeep back into the center of town and pulled over at the first restaurant we found. It turned out to be a tourist trap with nachos covered in iceberg lettuce and waitstaff that would rather be anywhere else on the planet. But we were delighted to be in Mexico. To be free of the cloying fear that chased us from New York across the country.
"It was some tourist trap right?" I asked Mulberry.
"Yeah, remember how horrible the food was. And Jesus, I've never had worse service." Mulberry picked up his Margarita.
I laughed. "It's amazing that the thing you remember most about that day is the terrible meal." I don't know if it was the Margarita, the stress, or that it was actually funny, but I laughed until I was no longer breathing.
Continue Reading DEATH IN THE DARK (A Sydney Rye Novella, #2) now.
About the Author:
Emily Kimelman lives on a boat in the Hudson Valley with her husband, Sean and their dog Kinsey (named after Sue Grafton's Kinsey Millhone). Kimelman has a passion for traveling and spends as much time as possible in the pursuit of adventure.
Her Sydney Rye series feature a strong female protagonist and her canine best friend. It is recommended for the 18+ who enjoy some violence, don't mind dirty language, and are up for a dash of sex. Not to mention an awesome, rollicking good mystery!
The first book, UNLEASHED, was released in October, 2011. DEATH IN THE DARK, a novella length Sydney Rye mystery came out in December 2012. The third installment in the series INSATIABLE came out in 2013. The fourth novel, STRINGS OF GLASS, will be out this summer.
If you've read Emily's work and want to get in contact with her she can be reached via email
[email protected], on Twitter @ejkimelman, on Facebook, and at her website www.emilykimelman.com. Sign up for Emily's newsletter to stay in touch.
A Note from the Author:
Thank you for reading my novel, UNLEASHED. I'm excited that you made it through my whole bio right here to my "note". I'm guessing that means that you enjoyed my story. If so, would you please write a review for UNLEASHED? You have no idea how much it warms my heart to get a new review. And this isn't just for me, mind you. Think of all the people out there who need reviews to make decisions. The children who need to be told this book is not for them. And the people about to go away on vacation who could have so much fun reading this on the plane. Consider it an act of kindness to me, to the children, to humanity.
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