Page 72 of The Business Trip

“¿Cuánto cuesto?” (How much does it cost?) I asked.

“Trescientos treinta y siete mil” (337,000), said the younger man.

I sucked in my breath.

“Pesos,” he added, and I exhaled, doing the math. I had already learned to make fast calculations as a waitress. That was less than $19,000 US. It was absolutely doable! I could put a down payment on it and start collecting furniture! My eyes glistened.

“¿Americana?” the older man asked.

I hesitated. Should I lie? Yes, I should. The better to put some distance between myself and any questions.

“Canadiense. Soy de Toronto. Muy frío.” (Canadian. I am from Toronto. Very cold.) He smiled and I waved goodbye, visions of the cottage growing in my mind. I was having a blast mentally decorating it already.

At work a few nights later, a TV was on over the bar area, tuned to CNN International but with the volume down. Tourists and locals sat at the square tiki bar, brightly colored lamps waving in the breeze above their heads. Music pulsed from our sound system. Everyone was drinking and talking and having a generally amazing time. I loved this place. It was exactly what I had dreamed of when I left Glenn, exactly what I had hoped for when I followed Stephanie.

Now I had the power, the money, the freedom to make my own decisions. No man in my life, no ties to anything or anyone. Just serving up pitchers of margaritas and bowls of chips with the best guacamole I had ever had, along with fajitas, burritos, enchiladas, and anything else our creative cooks whipped up.

No one bothered me down here. I felt safer and happier than I think I ever had before. Each morning, I would go for a long walk on the beach, stopping to pick up shells, which I kept on the dresser in my motel room. Maybe I would put them together into some sort of collage for the new cottage. I was imagining I could put that down payment on the place within a week or two.

And then…

I looked up at the TV. There was a picture of Raven.

With the volume down and the subtitles on, all I saw were flashes of some Spanish words I knew and some I did not.

Trying to look busy wiping down shot glasses but flitting my eyes back and forth frantically to the TV, I saw enough to know that Raven had been arrested in a passport bust the feds were calling the “Hurricane Passport Ring” in Atlanta. My eyes squinted to read more as the subtitles came flying across the screen.

It looked like Raven had worked out some sort of plea deal by telling police she had gotten me, currently one of the most notorious women in America, a passport to use at Tijuana to cross the border.

The blood drained from my whole being, and I dropped a shot glass, hearing it shatter on the floor. Kneeling hurriedly, I grabbed to pick it up without looking, and a broken shard of glass punctured my finger.

“Shit,” I said and looked down at the finger. No one at the bar area seemed to notice, though. Salsa music continued pumping, and a few drunk tourists were up dancing.

Sticking my finger into my mouth and tasting the metallic tang of blood, I looked at the TV again. A picture of my fake passport was being shown on-screen along with my fake name:Erica Birchfield. Oh no, oh holy hell. This couldn’t be happening. My eyes darted to the name tag pinned to my shirt:ERICA.

How could Raven do this? How could she rat me out? She told me she had my back. She took my money. We had known each other for decades. We were friends. Anger spiraled into my whole chest. I felt like a dragon that could literally spit fire.

Looking at the TV again… there was now a picture of Allison on the screen, taken hours before her death. She was wearing the black catsuit with rhinestones, whiskers perfect, her hair shiny as a mink.

One of Allison’s friends must have taken the picture. How did it get on the news? The only thing I could think of was that Drake’s brother gave it to Raven when he asked her for any tips she might have, and Raven gave it to the police when she turned me in. Raven had never mentioned the photo when she told me about seeing Drake’s brother in the bar. Another layer of betrayal.

But suddenly…

It got worse.

On-screen next was a picture ofmefrom our high school yearbook. The video switched back to the announcer, and she began talking. The Spanish subtitles on the screen started to swim in front of my eyes so quickly that I couldn’t digest them. I couldn’t process what was happening. The room swayed.

Raven. Did. This. To. Me. She. Told. Them. She. Ratted. Me. Out.

Nausea overtook me.

The words Raven had said as we sat on the bench by Trent’s house came storming back:

I do what I have to do to make money… and to keep out of jail. Been there once. I will do anything not to go back, and I domean anything. I’d turn in my own mother if I had to. It ain’t easy to make a living, but I find ways. Just gotta stay one step ahead of the feds, you know?

She sold me out to the feds to keep herself out of jail. Told them everything. We had been RAJE: Raven, Anna, Jasmine. Nowragewas all I felt.

Calm down, Jasmine. Allison’s death was twenty-seven years ago. There’s not one shred of evidence against you, I counseled myself.

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