George's Secret

By Chiquita Phillips

Betsy, a retired schoolteacher, is on a once-in-a-lifetime cruise in the Galapagos Islands. But not all Betsy's ship-mates are what they seem.

Betsy sees and hears some unlikely things. One person insists on collecting things, although to remove any item from the Galapagos Park is against the law. When the group visits George, the oldest living tortoise at the Darwin Research Station, Betsy sees one of her fellow tourists wiping a tortoise's mouth. Then one of Betsy's companions is abducted. The police become involved, and everyone is a suspect.

Mickey is the group's co-ordinator. He and Betsy seem to be on the edge of a romantic episode, when a volcano erupts and the traveller's yacht has to flee. Two of the small group die before they can reach the mainland. Mickey hatches a plan to catch the killer, and Betsy agrees to help, but she soon finds herself in a deadly struggle to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chiquita Phillips
• Release date: Sep 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311643698

Chiquita Phillips

I'm a retired teacher, who loves mysteries and likes to travel. One of the places I've visited was the Galapagos Islands. It's a unique environment, made famous by Charles Darwin, and George, the oldest living tortoise known. When I got home, I wanted to share some of the things I'd seen and heard with folks who were interested. So I started to write a mystery story set in those islands, where a group of tourists is on a cruise when things start to go wrong. Of course, the 'going wrong' part is purely fictional.

Book preview

George’s Secret

George’s Secret:

An ecomystery

by Chiquita Phillips

Cover illustration: Jane Coryell

Table of Contents

1.Arrival In Ecuador

2.A late visitor

3.Otavalo market

4.Conversations overheard

5.Boarding the yacht

6.First island visit

7.Mickey and Betsy

8.Visiting George

9.Wild tortoises

10.The dead tortoise

11.The volcano

12.Roz disappears

13.Tony is dead

14.Interview with the police

15.Roz reappears

16.Roz is dead

17.More police

18.Mickeys’s plan

19.False notebook

20.The restaurant

21.Catching a killer

22.The birthday party

23.Injection

24.Fight for your life

25.Paint box

Chapter 1

Something poked my shoulder.

Betsy, wake up, a voice said. We’re landing.

Another poke. I opened my eyes. I pretend I never sleep on airplanes, but this time Mickey was sitting right next to my snores.

I turned to look at him, a good-looking young guy, leading us from Canada to Ecuador. He seemed young anyway, probably in his forties. Made him ten years younger than me - ten or maybe fifteen.

What? I said.

We’re coming down. Can’t you feel it? Now that I paid attention, I could feel my ears clogging up. Is this Quito? Or some other midway point? Miami of the south?

No, no, he said, grinning, we’re here. This is our stop. All out for Quito and the Galapagos Islands, he called to our group scattered among the economy seats. Meet at the carousel.

I closed my eyes again, just for a minute, and considered romance: the May-December thing, me as December, unfortunately. A guy ten years younger? Would it work at least for the two weeks we’d be on board the yacht? Hmmm.

Thump. I felt the landing gear go down. I stretched my legs into the aisle. It’d be good to stand up, walk around, shake out the airborne lassitude. Also I wanted to get acquainted with the rest of our crew, people I’d smiled at in one airport or another. I’m not great at names, but I figured I could handle eight or ten. I already knew Mickey.

I’d been looking forward to touring the Galapagos Islands since childhood when my father used to talk about how Charles Darwin changed people’s view of the world. Luckily, I’d retired last June; you can only teach science for so long. I’d enjoyed the enthusiasm of young children. Then in high school, my classes had done experiments, and we’d had a lot of fun. But enough is enough, and when I took that fall last year, I knew I should get out of the classroom.

When we landed around six, darkness surrounded us. A young woman held up a sign: ‘Magical Galapagos Tours’. Hello. I’m Monica, your guide in Quito, she introduced herself. I can help with any questions and I’ll be going with you to the market tomorrow.

Monica had a light Spanish accent, and I heard een Queeto. She had dark hair and smooth tanned skin. Her jacket pin was a shiny bronze badge that shimmered in the light with golden letters spelling, MAGICAL. I hoped the trip would be magical; I felt ready for some magic.

I looked around and caught sight of a woman with short reddish hair in a rough cut, a pale complexion and large heavy glasses standing beside a wheelchair. I’d seen that same woman pre-boarding in Miami, plus she had yellow tour company tags like mine, so I walked over feeling sure she’d turn out to be one of our group.

Hi. I’m Betsy. Betsy Russell. Going to the Galapagos?

She turned at my voice.

Hi, I’m Trisha. Did you say Betsy? She shook my hand. We’re going to be roommates, I think. She had short, stubby fingers that she used to rake through her hair, making it stand on end..

She probably saw the question in my eyes. I use a wheelchair at airports - so much walking - but I get around okay without it. Her voice twisted upwards. There’ll be no chair in the cabin, if that’s what you’re worrying about. She gave me a fierce look as if daring me to contradict her.

I raised my eyebrows, gave her my ‘not my business’ look, and took out another piece of gum. Hey, here’s the bus driver. Can I help with your pack? I leaned over and hoisted her bag, which felt surprisingly light.

I only brought one book this time. She had a nice smile. Good teeth, too.

As I turned toward the exit, I saw Esther approaching. Esther and Dan were the older couple in our group, both in their sixties. Esther had fluffy silver hair and twinkling blue eyes. Dan had no hair, and I hadn’t paid any attention to his eyes. We’d eaten together at Miami International, stuffing down dry sandwiches, and trying to say a word to everyone in the group.

Esther held out her hand. Hello, I’m Esther, and over there is Dan, my husband. Dan bobbed his shiny head. Do you need help with this chair?

Trisha mumbled something I didn’t catch and Esther passed her a small bit of paper. What was that all about?

As we boarded the bus, the city roared around us. Mickey plunked down next to me, and again I found myself wondering: was he sending me some kind of message?

We saw through the dusty windows that people flowed everywhere: people walking home from work, or out for the evening, some on the sidewalks, but many spilling out into the street. There wasn’t much street lighting, but the shop windows reflected every bit of shine and colour.

Motorbikes competed for road space with autos, buses and trucks. I wondered at so few bicycles; I would’ve expected more in a city of over two million. Then I remembered that at more than nine thousand feet, Quito is one of the highest capitals in the world, so cycling on a mountain would be more effort than I’d care for, since I even have trouble with small hills at home.

The windows opened at the top, and I could smell street food as we passed: spicy sausage, curry, rich tomato sauce. The stench of garbage, though, almost overpowered everything. Bins overflowed on corners, and scruffy dogs rummaged through the mess. Addiing to the stink, smoke and exhaust hung on the still night air.

And the noise, a perfect waterfall of sounds: honking, brakes shrieking, shouting, laughing, barking, music pouring out of windows, trolley bells.

I wanted to walk along those noisy streets, look into the bright storefronts, watch the colourful crowds, remembering to look down, too, to avoid trash on the road. I imagined myself smelling the beef sizzling on the grill and listening for stray words in English. Maybe I’d go out and do that, after we got settled in.

Our hotel was in a quieter street lined with leafy trees leading up to a wide doorway. Mickey’s ponytail bobbed as he jumped down to help us negotiate the high step. Maybe I’d hold onto his hand a bit longer than necessary as I was leaving the bus, just to see if he noticed, or better, if he responded.

Monica stood up. Remember: you need an early breakfast. We want to be on the road by eight. It’s a couple of hours to Otavalo.

Our other couple came from a suburb north of my city. Leanne and Sandy, who were dressed in fancy travel clothing, looked to be in their mid-forties. I heard Leanne’s rather shrill voice, This hotel isn’t very big. I hope they have a sauna. I need something after that flight. And I’m hungry.

Well, they’ll have a shower, Sandy answered. And that’s where I’m heading. Let’s go. He pulled two stuffed bags down from the rack.

Another woman, Glenna, jumped up and hauled her carry-on onto her back, her graying hair flying as she hopped down the steps. I’d met her early that morning in the airport. See you guys in the bar, she waved as she disappeared into the hotel.

I really liked Glenna. When she’d told me she was in her fifties, like me, I’d hoped she might be my roommate, but then she said the travel agency had paired her with someone called Roz.

Trisha came up beside me. Here we go. She held up her hand in a high-five. I noticed she bit her nails.

The adventure begins, I raised my own hand.

I heard Leanne complaining as she stepped off the bus. Hmmm, wonder if we’ll always be waiting for that one. I hate waiting for slowpokes.

Was she talking about Trisha? Or me?

I did hold onto Mickey’s hand as I clambered down the high steps. He stood chatting to a porter standing beside a luggage rack and didn’t seem even to notice my hand. Phooey.

I did a memory exercise while we assembled. Who’s who? Mickey: mmm, yummy. Trisha: glasses, roommate. Glenna: grey hair, funny. Leanne: crabby, whiny. Sandy: comb-over, placid. Esther: older, white hair. Dan: bald. Okay, so far. One more couple to go.

In the lobby, a crowd, mostly men in hard hats, milled around. Signs posted read: ‘Welcome delegates to the IMMA Convention.’ At least that’s what the English part said.

What’s IMMA? asked Esther.

Trisha read from some small print on a sandwich board, International Metals and Minerals Association.

Mining engineers and such, said Dan, looking over Trisha’s shoulder. He read Discovering and developing mineral deposits in South American countries.

Wouldn’t you know a large crowd would arrive at the same time as us? The desk clerk took some time to sort us all out.

While he arranged for everyone’s room, I zipped around to find the media centre. I planned to come back later, pay for time on a computer, and check in at home with Skype.

When I returned, the other travellers had all disappeared; the desk guy was gone, too. Trisha sat slumped on her bag, holding a key card. Where did you go? she crabbed. I almost went up and left you.

Sorry, I got a bit lost, I lied. She didn’t need to know all my business.

She headed to the elevator. Come on. I need to sit down. And I really need to take off these boots.

I looked down and for the first time noticed she wore hiking boots, so she must have been wearing them all day. Yowch.

When the door to 301 opened, both Trisha and I groaned.

It’s too small. Look at this room, she said. We can’t stay here.

Yeah, way too small. And only one bed. Don’t unpack anything. I’ll go down, get the room changed. Or get another bed, but there’s no space…

I grumbled as I took the stairs to the lobby, …Idiots..

A different guy whose nametag read ‘Juan’ was standing behind the reception desk. Feeling ready for an argument at this point, I leaned over the counter and snarled, The other clerk, just two minutes ago, gave us this tiny little room, with only one bed. I threw the key card with its heavy plastic fob onto the counter. Hard. My roommate might need a wheelchair. We need more space. And we must have two beds.

I shoved the key sharply at him. We’re hot. We’re sweaty. We’re hungry, and we’re tired. We’ve been travelling since early this morning. And we’ve been waiting here in this lobby for more than half an hour. So find us a suitable room, Juan. Now!

With that, I banged the key on the counter.

Oh, oh, so sorry, he apologized, punching in codes on his computer. He must have mixed up rooms with one of the engineers. I’ll find a room for you with two beds right away. Juan spoke excellent English. That was a bonus.

Juan finally handed over two cards for room 404. This room will be perfect, he said. There’s lots of space, and two queen beds.

When I opened the door to 301, I saw Trisha sitting on the single chair, her boots lying on the floor, while she massaged her left foot.

I said, Ready for another haul? We’re going up one more level.

I slung her pack over my other shoulder and grabbed my rollie. She managed her bag in one hand, her boots in the other as she padded to the elevator behind me in her socks.

Room 404 did appear to be perfect. Trisha immediately dropped her boots and bounced on the bed by the window. I sat and undid my own shoes. On a side table, I spied a pamphlet with instructions for the room safe.

I was reading it while Trisha checked out the safe built into the closet wall. Interesting. The door’s closed, she said, but not locked. She pulled on the handle, and the safe door swung silently open.

Hey, there’s already something in here, she said, feeling around. It’s a scrap of paper, folded up and jammed in the corner.

She brought the paper out, all scrunched up. It was pale blue with a letterhead: EMM and a logo: a line drawing of a squarish shape with some dots off to the side.

EMM. Ecuador Metals and Minerals? Trisha guessed. And this drawing? It looks like a map of the country. She waved it at me. Think so?

You’re right. And the dots are the Galapagos Islands, exactly where we’re going to be the day after tomorrow.

We looked more carefully at the sheet, which was a computer printout of some kind of report in Spanish. I skimmed it and picked out an English word.

Tin, I said. I knew tin; it’s one of the world’s most versatile metals, and has been in use throughout history. Some of my science kids had a lot of fun with experiments using tin, like making tin soldiers in class. Yup, I knew tin.

Do you know that one? That’s an English word, I think. Trisha pointed at the word ‘wolfram.’ I’ve seen it before in some papers at the library where I used to work. It’s a kind of metal…

Yeah, a really hard metal, and it has another name. I’ll think of it in a minute. Maybe.

I read the number ‘50’ beside ‘tin’ and ‘74’ went with ‘wolfram.’ Those numbers are from the periodic table of elements, Trisha said slowly. I learned that stuff in high school chemistry.

Personally, I didn’t much care for chemistry, I said. And I didn’t much care for the old bat who taught it, either. But I loved science: natural science, biology, even physics. That’s why I wanted to teach science, so more kids would love it, and not be turned off by an old bat.

At the bottom of the page were dollar signs with numbers beside them, and strings of numerals in twos. The first pair had a little circle beside it. Did that mean degrees?

I stepped into the bathroom to put my gum in the garbage, thinking about tin, metals, and the conference. It wasn’t my business, but the mystery paper bugged me a little. I wanted to understand what that paper, and those numbers, meant. I felt like I had a connection there, to tin, to my years teaching science; tin connected to mining; and mining connected to metals.

And to dollars.

Mining and monetary malfeasance has a history together. Blood diamonds. Salted gold deposits. Claim jumping. And, not to forget, plain old stealing. Why would companies here in South America operate differently from those anywhere else?

I’ll be using the computer later, so I’ll look up wolfram. Any others?

Yes, here, Trisha said. Tantalum, 73.

One of those engineers must’ve had this room.

Trisha folded up the paper. We can just pitch it. Or give it to the desk clerk. She made to throw it in the direction of the trash can.

Hang onto it for now, and I’ll check out what those metals are. Let’s go downstairs. MIckey said to meet him in the bar. It’s across the entrance hall from the lobby. I could use something cold.

Trisha looked down at her boots. I can’t put these on again. Give me a sec. I have a pair of slippers here in a pocket. She pulled some knitted slippers out of her case; they looked as if they’d been made as a gift by some grade-school child, kind of loose and sloppy in wild colours of wool, and with no tread to speak of.

She stood, tucking the blue paper into the side pocket of her jeans. It didn’t quite fit and the edge showing part of the logo stuck out.

On our way out we met a group of young men coming in, two of them still wearing their hard hats. We exchanged Buenos noches and nods.

I stepped carefully over a rumpled mat at the bar entrance, but Trisha stumbled behind me, and took a header, crashing onto the marble floor with a thud. Blood spurted from her chin, and a little came out of her nose.

She looked stunned for a moment, and I leaned over, holding out my hand, Here, you need to sit up. Let me help you.

She sat with her back to a pillar, holding a hand to her bleeding chin. Staring at the men who were now in the lobby, she said quite clearly, That guy pushed me. She pointed to the last man sliding into the elevator as the door closed.

I felt a hand in the middle of my back, she insisted, raising her voice. When I turned my head I saw his blue sleeve out of the corner of my eye. He knocked me down, and he did it on purpose.

Chapter 2

Blood dribbled down Trisha’s front onto her shirt. I recalled my small children forever injuring themselves, blood running from cuts and scratches. Head wounds always bleed a lot.

Take these, I said, holding out some tissues I’d had in my pocket. Put your head back. Hold these against your chin.

Just then two of the hotel workers rushed out from Reception. Through the glass doors, they’d seen Trisha fall. One ran into the bar for a towel; the other leaned down to pick up Trisha’s glasses.

Is there a doctor? I asked him. She might need stitches.

Yes, yes, downstairs, my old friend, Juan, said. Dr. Diaz. He has an office in the basement. I’ll phone to make sure he’s in. He scurried back to the lobby.

Mickey ambled out of the bar with a tall glass in his hand and stood in the open doorway. What’s going on?

A blonde I hadn’t seen before peered over his shoulder, her hand on Mickey’s arm, a hand that seemed to be establishing property rights. We’d heard that Glenna’s roommate would meet us at the hotel. Would this be her? Mickey hadn’t mentioned that he